


To Make You Mine

by nightrose



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Aftercare, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Bondage, Depression, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Hurt/Comfort, Implied or Off-stage Rape/Non-con, Insecurity, Jealousy, M/M, Modern Era, No Aftercare, Physical Abuse, Rape, Rape Recovery, References to Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Trans Female Character, Whipping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-06
Updated: 2014-07-29
Packaged: 2017-12-14 02:52:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 28,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/831860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightrose/pseuds/nightrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From a prompt at the kink meme: Enjolras and Grantaire meet and boom, instant sexual compatibility. Except that Grantaire is already someone else's sub and Enjolras has to win him away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Enjolras is alone at the café, very late at night. The others have all departed hours ago, but he—he has a speech to write, and he works better outside his apartment. His flat is dingy and cold, and the emptiness makes him rather uncomfortable. He’d rather sit in the brightly lit Musain, ordering an endless stream of their good, strong coffee, even if he does have to deal with other people.

It’s very late at night, probably two in the morning, when the door screeches open. Enjolras glares at the paper, but does not spare a glance upward for the offender. He can tell by the heavy footsteps that he’s a drunk, probably kicked out of some bar and trying to sober up.

Enjolras does not care for the interruption.

The man slurs, in a deep, rasping voice, “Wine. Please.” He hands over some coins and recieves his drink, and, unfortunately, settles into the only other chair at Enjolras’ small table. 

Enjolras looks up to glare at him. He’s quite good at warning people away with no more than a look. Yet as soon as he sees the stranger’s face, his eyes soften. He doesn’t know why—the drunk isn’t a beautiful man. His nose is crooked like it’s been broken, his face is red from drink, and there’s a deep scar on one of his cheeks, marring the symmetry of his face. Nonetheless, the second his eyes meet the other man’s, he feels a rush of something he hasn’t felt in years. He wants to know this man, wants to touch him, wants, inexplicably, to make him a part of his life. 

He also wants to fuck him, which is an urge Enjolras gets rather rarely. 

“M’name’s Grantaire. Friends call me R.”

Enjolras extends his hand. Instead of shaking it, the drunk—Grantaire—takes it softly in his warm, calloused fingers and presses his lips to the back of Enjolras’ hand. “Enjolras.”

“Nice t’meet you.”

“Likewise.”

“What’re you doing here?”

“I am attempting to write a speech.”

“’Bout what?”

“The rights of mankind.”

“Seems like sort of a broad topic.” Grantaire takes a long sip of his drink.

“I could ask what you’re doing here, but I think I know.”

Grantaire shrugs, looking down at his cup. “Nowhere better to be.”

That sets off Enjolras’ protective instinct. “Surely you could go home, if you chose?”

“Not allowed.”

“What do you mean?”

Grantaire smiles brightly. “Tell me about your writing!’

It’s the most transparent of subject changes. Enjolras lets the question drop for now, intending to revisit it before he lets Grantaire leave. Instead, he explains what he’s writing about. The speech is planned for tomorrow, and he’s less than halfway finished. “It just gets terribly frustrating, because it seems that no one listens.”

“You’re going about this the wrong way,” Grantaire informs him, apparently becoming more sober by the second. “People do not care about your ideas.”

Enjolras, offended, even angry, starts to pull away. “If that’s all you have to suggest—“

“You mistake me, Apollo. Your ideas—your ideals—are lovely. Why, I want to put them up on a shelf and look at them from time to time. But no one but yourself is pure-hearted enough to believe in them. I can see it in your eyes. You truly think people will act to do the right thing. They will not. What motivates people is feeling. You must move people to feel, not only that their current state is intolerable, but that the future—and you—are good. You must seduce the crowd. Make them love you. Win their hearts, not their minds—or don’t, it doesn’t matter to me.”

Enjolras blinks down at the page. That’s… flippantly stated, utterly absurd, not the proper concern of a man of his ideals. It’s also the first piece of useful advice he’s gotten in months, ever since Combeferre had pointed out that unless Enjolras slept occasionally he wasn’t going to have many successful revolutions. “I—Apollo?”

“You know. Poetry. Healing. Great ideas.” He grins again. “The god of light, shining right here in this shitty dive in the middle of a Tuesday night.”

“Why can’t you go home?” Enjolras asks again, and Grantaire flinches. Enjolras extends a hand, taking Grantaire’s fingers in his own. His touch is so warm, so real. Enjolras never wants to let go. “You can tell me. You can trust me.”

“I—My—“ Grantaire shakes his head. “It’s three. I have to go now. Have to get home.”

Enjolras drops his hand as if he’s been burnt. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I thought—“ He has never been good at reading social signs, it’s why he’s been so long alone. 

“You didn’t… there’s nothing wrong. It’s my fault. It’s mine.”

“Can I—“ Enjolras steels himself. He has the strength to stand in front of a rioting crowd, why can’t he say these words? “I’d like to see you again.”

Grantaire smiles, the cockiness from before gone. He looks shy, looks pleased. Enjolras wants to kiss the expression from his lips, leave his mouth red and swollen, wants to feel Grantaire’s strong body tremble in his arms. “I’d like that too. When can—“

“I’m giving this speech tomorrow. Right out on the street in front of here. Would you like to come listen? Tell me all the things I’m doing wrong?”

“I’d love that.” He reaches out, squeezes Enjolras’ hand one more time, and then he’s gone, the feeling of his touch still burning on Enjolras’ skin.


	2. Chapter 2

Grantaire tiptoes through the front door of his apartment. With any luck, Sir has stayed on the time schedule he told Grantaire to stick to and is already asleep.

“The fuck are you doing?”

No such luck. The light flips on and Grantaire freezes. “Sorry, sir, I-“

“Are you drunk?”

“Yes, sir. Sorry.” He’s mostly sober now, but there’s no point in protesting.

“Where were you?”

“You said not to come home. Not til this late.”

“That doesn’t answer my question,” Sir snaps, rising off the couch to stand quickly, and Grantaire swallows and falls to his knees, hoping still that he’s going to avoid punishment.

“Sorry. I went to the pub down the street, then the all-night café after the pub closed. I drank. I waited.” Grantaire is tired and his head is buzzing from the alcohol. All he wants to do is curl up and sleep. “How was your meeting, sir?”

“Fine. Just fine. But it ended early, and you weren’t fucking here. You were out getting drunk again.”

“Y-you said-“

Sir raises his hand, and Grantaire flinches away hard. Sir looks down at him and laughs, laughs at him there shaking and afraid, and lowers his hand. “I wouldn’t punish you for that. Don’t be stupid.”

“Sorry,” Grantaire says again, just to be on the safe side. 

“Come on. Let’s get to bed. I’m tired.”

“Sir?”

He sighs. “What is it?”

“I- I was wondering…”

“Yeah?”

“May I go to hear a friend give a speech tomorrow afternoon? Please?”

“Don’t be silly.” Sir leans down and caresses his cheek. Grantaire shivers. “I know you don’t have any friends. I’m the only one who puts up with your useless ass.”

“So-“

“No, bitch,” Sir says, and his voice is steely-hard and frightening. “You weren’t here tonight when I wanted you, were you?”

“No, sir, but I—“

“So tomorrow you aren’t fucking leaving my sight. Am I perfectly clear?”

“Yes sir. I’m sorry I asked.”

“That’s more like it. Go brush the booze off your breath and get in bed.”

“Yes, sir.”

Grantaire goes to the bathroom. As he brushes his teeth and gets ready for bed, he thinks about the man he met tonight. About Enjolras.

He’s know him for all of an hour, and yet he can’t forget the touch of his hand. His fingertips were soft and cool, his touch gentle, but there was something commanding, something possesive, in the way he spoke.

Grantaire is pretty sure he’s making this all up because he wants it so badly, wants to imagine himself as desirable, as being wanted. 

Sir had wanted him at first, had practically dragged Grantaire to bed with him. Grantaire has done nothing but disappoint him ever since. He isn’t handsome, isn’t clever, doesn’t do anything right. He’s a failure as a man and as a sub and he knows that. He hates himself for it, and so he doesn’t question the heavy feeling of fear in his stomach. 

He deserves to suffer.

Enjolras won’t even notice that he doesn’t show up. There’s no sense in worrying about the fact that Grantaire had promised and has no way of contacting Enjolras and telling him he can’t come, because it’s not like Enjolras would care. He doesn’t know Grantaire at all, doesn’t care about him, and if he did know Grantaire, he’d know better than to depend on him anyway because Grantaire is worthless and careless and always, always fucks everything up. 

He shouldn’t want Enjolras. He should be grateful that anyone takes him at all, that Sir puts up with him.

He shouldn’t dream of anything more.

He’d be nothing but a disappointment to Enjolras anyway, even if he wasn’t making up the flicker of heat, of tension, that Grantaire imagined existed between them. He’d never be good enough. He saw Enjolras—the most beautiful man he’s ever seen, and, well, there’s a mirror in this bathroom, and he isn’t that stupid. He knows better than to hope.

Or so he tells himself, over and over again, as he takes off his clothes and walks over to the bedroom. It isn’t right to hope. He has more than he deserves. He shouldn’t want more. Shouldn’t want someone else. If Sir hurts him, he deserves it. If he’s afraid, if he’s sad, if he’s lonely sleeping on the floor instead of in his dominant’s arms, it’s because he isn’t good enough for any more.

He lies down on the floor, curled up under his blanket. Sir kicks him hard enough to get his attention. 

“Up.”

Grantaire kneels upright. 

“I think you owe me a little apology for your absence tonight.” His pants are open, revealing his hard cock. He pulls Grantaire forward by a grip on the back of his neck, forcing his head down. 

Grantaire remembers when he loved sex, when it was a pleasure, an absolute joy. He lets himself imagine how it would feel to have Enjolras’ cool fingers on the back of his neck, if his cock would taste as sweet as his breath smelled.

Then Sir thrusts into Grantaire’s mouth and he can’t think anymore, shutting his imagination, his mind down so he can focus on his task, so he can be a little less worthless.


	3. Chapter 3

“Where is he?” Enjolras demands to Combeferre, pacing back and forth.

“Where is who?”

“Grantaire. He said he’d be here.”

Combeferre sighs heavily. “You don’t even know him, Enjolras. How can you be so sure he’s coming?”

“I just know. I know he wouldn’t lie to me, and he said he was going to come. He was—he just—I don’t know what to say, Combeferre, I just felt like I had a connection to him.”

Combeferre looks at him gravely, that expression that says he’s practically reading Enjolras’ mind in that particular and infuriating way he has. “You were attracted to him.”

“I- yes, but, not just in a… not just sexually. I just… we talked all night. In the fourteen years we’ve been friends, Combeferre, have you ever known me to chat from midnight til three am?”

“You wouldn’t have wanted to speak to me for three consecutive hours even when we were six years old,” Combeferre admits. “Still, he was a one night stand. In an emotional, not a physical sense, but that’s still what happened.”

Enjolras continues to pace in front of the café. “I don’t think that’s right. You know I would normally defer to you on matters of emotion, on anything about a man’s heart, but I must trust my instinct here. And my instincts say, more strongly than they have said anything in a long time, that Grantaire and I had a connection—a mental and emotional attraction as much as we had a physical one. Forgive me harping on this, but I cannot shake the feeling that he wants to be here.”

Combeferre raises an eyebrow. “You’re saying that something or someone is restraining him, against his will, from coming here to listen to you give this speech?”

“I know it sounds unlikely, but that is my feeling, strange though it may seem.”

“It doesn’t sound unlikely, Enjolras.”

“Really?”

“Really. It sounds completely absurd. Crazy in the sense that you might need immediate intervention from a trained mental health professional.”

“I- I’m not crazy. I just—“

“Have no idea how to deal with your own sexual feelings. Because they happen so rarely.”

“That’s not it,” Enjolras insists. “He wouldn’t… he wanted to meet again. I can tell.”

“I’m not saying he didn’t. You’re interesting, you’re intelligent, you’re attractive. I’m sure your late-night friend would love to see you again and probably wants to make sweet, sweet love to you. But you are overreacting. Maybe he’s busy. Maybe he forgot. Maybe he’s sleeping off his hangover or had to take a friend to the dentist or twisted his ankle and can’t walk here. Anything could have happened. It isn’t an emergency just because you’ve never had a crush before.”

“I do not have a—“ Enjolras stops himself mid-sentence. “Oh. I have a crush on him.”

“This has never happened to you before, has it? I mean, I’ve known you essentially your whole life, and you’ve never—“

“Never. Never, ever. This hasn’t—This is embarassing. Do you seriously go through this all the time?”

“Often,” Combeferre admits. “But I’m used to it. I went through the embarassing, panicked, totally overwhelmed stage when I was fourteen. You remember that?”

“Indeed I do. You enlisted me to purchase flowers for the same girl every day for two weeks, and then proceeded to avoid my company in order to pursue hers.”

“Yes, and now that I’m an adult, I don’t act creepy and rude every time I’m interested in somone. Not that you’re quite as bad as fifteen-year-old me, Enjolras, but you’re headed in that direction. Fast. So you’re going to have to get over the fact that he isn’t here, and he probably isn’t coming. Go give your speech, do what you do best. Maybe he’ll come by late.”

“You think so?” Enjolras asks, unable to help the hope that flares up.

“I—I doubt it, honestly. But don’t give up. You’re always here at the Musain anyway, meetings or writing or giving speeches. If he stumbled in here once, he may be here again. And it is… oh, this will sound silly to you, but it has always been my personal belief that if it’s meant to be, you will find a way. You’ll find each other again.”

“Truly?” Enjolras says, and then sighs. “Forgive me. I am being foolish.”

“You’re being human, Enjolras. I am your friend, I do not begrudge it. To tell the truth, I rather welcome it.” Combeferre squeezes his shoulder. “I wish you luck. Both today, and with your young man.”

“He’s not my-“ Enjolras begins, then flushes, meeting Combeferre’s gaze. “Thank you.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Huge trigger warning for severe physical/emotional abuse/non-consensual BDSM in this chapter.

“Get dressed, slut. We’re going out.”

Grantaire blinks sleepily awake. He’s been napping on the floor for the last half-hour, a blessed rest from his dom’s constant presence and insistent demands. In the past three days, he’s left the house only twice, for brief grocery shopping trips. When Sir sleeps, Grantaire is left with such a long list of chores he barely gets a chance to close his eyes, much less rest up and heal from the increasingly severe bruising now covering his ass, back, and thighs. “Sir?”

He doesn’t even flinch before Sir slaps him for talking back. He epxects it at this point. “I said get up. Put on some jeans. We’re going to a club.”

Grantaire had met him at a kink club. He was nineteen and terrified, absolutely sure that everyone there would be able to tell he was just a clueless kid who had no idea what the hell he was doing in a place like this. Sir had been older, experienced. He told Grantaire about the years he’d been coming to the club, big names he’d trained under—most Grantaire didn’t even recognize. And he’d been interested. He didn’t try to hide that. His attention was mesmerizing, consuming, addictive. All Grantaire had ever wanted was to be desired, to be good enough of that kind of attention. He never stood a chance. And Sir never let him forget how lucky he was to be chosen. “Yes, sir.”

Grantaire puts on the worn jeans Sir picks out for him, no underwear, no shirt, no shoes. The night is chilly, and he shivers the whole walk there, a few steps behind Sir, who is dressed in pants, a t-shirt, boots, and a jacket. He doesn’t touch Grantaire or even look at him and maybe Grantaire should feel good that he’s being trusted to obey, but all he feels is that his dom doesn’t even care whether or not he’s there.

They arrive at the same club where they’d first met. Sir checks his coat and pays for the two of them. 

As they enter the club floor, Grantaire is blinded by the familiar haze of dim lights, cigarette smoke, and pounding club music. He only lets himself succumb to these distractions for a second before he sees something unusual. There’s a table set up at the front of the club, with a scholarly-looking young man, wearing a suit instead of typical club attire, and a number of pamphlets. 

“Excuse me,” says the young man. “My name is Combeferre, and I’m a medical student. There’s a strain of menangitis that’s been infecting the MSM and gay community, and—“

Sir’s hand circles the back of Grantaire’s neck, a heavy, tangible weight, and pulls him past the medical student as he says something about free vaccines.

Grantaire doesn’t protest or resist. He goes where he’s pushed, even though it’s into the middle of the crowded floor and there are people on all sides of him, shoving against him, bodies moving against his naked, exposed self. Sir pins his hands behind his back, controlling him as they dance, moving Grantaire’s body, putting him on display. Grantaire can feel himself blushing, feel how visibly his shame is written all over his face. Everyone here knows what he is. What a worthless slut he is.

“We’re going to play here tonight. I’m going to beat you in front of everyone. Would you like that?” Sir asks.

“Yes, sir.” No, he wouldn’t. He’d like to go home and curl up so his bruises don’t hurt so much and hide from the world. He’d like to drink until he can’t think. He’d like to be taken into his dom’s arms and held and comforted and told he’s good enough.

It’s not that he would mind being on display. Grantaire can see the other subs, the smiling ones with thick collars around their necks and smiles on their faces, the ones who look so happy to be owned, to be claimed. And Grantaire has never known that feeling, but he can understand it. He’s dreamed of it since he was a kid, ever since he can remember, before he knew what any of this meant.

Sir won’t let him have a collar. He isn’t good enough. He could earn it someday, Sir always says, if he wasn’t such a waste of space. If he could just be a good boy. But he can’t. Grantaire is, always will be, not good enough. He doesn’t even really hope for it anymore. Grantaire doesn’t deserve to be claimed like that, doesn’t deserve that symbol of being protected and wanted.

He’s lucky Sir puts up with him at all.

Sir pushes him over to one wall where there’s a St. Andrew’s Cross. “Hold the straps,” he orders, and then ties Grantaire into place. Grantaire tries hard to relax and not resist and be good, but he can’t help the shivers that come across his whole body. 

And then the whip hits him. 

It’s a bright sear of agonizing pain across his back. It feels like a single-tail whip, and it’s swung hard and fast. It hurts so badly that Grantaire’s eyes roll back in his head.

At the second blow, he cries out. By the third, he can’t hold himself up. He’s sagging in the ropes, helpless, limp from the pain and exhaustion. Usually he could take more than this—it’s bad, but it’s no worse than Sir’s favorite cane—but he’s so tired and miserable.

“Shut up,” Sir hisses. “You want people coming over here and asking me a bunch of questions?”

“No, sir.”

“If you can’t make it til ten without screaming like a little bitch, I swear I’ll leave you here.”

Grantaire bites his lip and nods. He takes the fourth blow silently. At the fifth, tears spill over, but no noise.

He’s shaking again for six, struggling instinctively against the bonds. But he doesn’t scream. He won’t scream.

A pained whimper escapes his lips on seven, and Sir pauses. “Watch yourself, slut,” he warns, scraping his nails hard across the whip marks. Grantaire feels his own blood dripping down his back.

He takes eight and nine pretty well. They’re not as hard, and he takes in a deep breath. He can do this. He can be a good boy. It doesn’t matter that people are watching. That they’re all seeing him be punished. That they all know how bad he is, that he can’t even stay stil land be good. All that matters is pleasing Sir. And he’s going to do it. Maybe he’ll even be allowed to sleep at the foot of Sir’s bed tonight, instead of on the floor. If he’s good.

The tenth blow cracks in the air before it hits him, the whip snaking up to curve around the back of his head, striking his face and ear. He tastes blood in his mouth, his lip split and burning, and he screams and screams.


	5. Chapter 5

Enjolras is just settling in for his shift at the table. Combeferre insisted he work the late shift, when there are more drunk and sex-crazed people, when the risk is higher. “They’ll trust you,” he says, and doesn’t add because you’re one of them. Combeferre has always known about Enjolras’ perversions, about all his secrets, and he’s a good enough friend not to tease. 

So when the late-night crowd of serious players, experienced doms and subs with expensive leatherwear collections and holding leashes or wearing them, begins to arrive, Enjolras takes over the menangitis vacccination booth.

And he’s just about sitting down, ready to smile at a pretty young woman walking through the door with her leather-clad, stony-faced girlfriend following a step behind, when the music pauses.

There’s a loud chorus of boos.

“Sorry, folks,” a voice comes over the loudspeaker. “Um. Anybody know a guy named Grantaire? Please come to the bar.”

Enjolras’ heart freezes. He hadn’t expected to ever find Grantaire again. Perhaps it’s someone else? But it’s hardly a common name.

He leaves the table empty and runs to the bar, full speed, more or less shoving people out of his way.

“Hi,” he says breathlessly to the bartender. “I’m looking for Grantaire?”

“You with him?” The bartender, a large, intimidating bald man, crosses his arms over his bald chest, glaring disapprovingly at Enjolras.

“No. Just a friend. A worried friend. What’s the matter?”

“Some asshole left him right after a scene. He’s pretty fucked up. Jim- the manager- has him in a back room, doesn’t want to cause a scene. We’re trying to find someone who can calm him down. You know him well enough for that?”

Enjolras shrugs, trying to hide his deep uncertainty. He’s had thoughts, daydreams, fantasies of taking care of a sub, of being the stable, gentle force that someone needed desperately. He’s just… never actually done it before. “I can try.”

The bartender gestures at a door in the wall, and Enjolras opens it. He has to blink to adjust to the flourescent lighting after the dimness of the club. There’s a room- little more than a storage closet- with all the lights on. There’s a suited manager in there, his nametag reading “Jim/Master Ravyn,” and in the corner, curled up on a box, his knees tugged into his chest—Grantaire.

Enjolras doesn’t bother to greet the other man. Every instinct is screaming at him to go take care of Grantaire. Enjolras kneels in front of Grantaire’s curled-up body and quietly calls his name.

Grantaire doesn’t look up, just hides his face in his knees.

“It’s me. It’s Enjolras. Do you remember?”

Grantaire nods quickly.

“I’ll—can I—“ Jim begins to interrupt. Enjolras waves him off. 

“Grantaire, will you look up at me?”

Grantaire’s eyes dart up, taking in Enjolras’ face, before dropping back down.

“Do you-“ Enjolras wants to ask if Grantaire is all right, but he knows the answer to that. “You know where you are?”

Grantaire shakes his head slightly.

“You’re in a back room at the club. I guess they brought you here after your—“

“He left,” Grantaire whispers, his voice ragged like he’s been screaming. “I’m sorry.”

“Whatever for?”

“If I was good, he would’ve stayed.” Grantaire’s voice is a flat monotone.

“I- who was this?”

“My dom.”

“And was this his first time ever—“ Mistakes happen, Enjolras understands that, for all there’s fury flooding through his veins. Not that a newbie error is forgiveable—Enjolras certainly wouldn’t expect any leniency if he were the one who’d left Grantaire crying on a supply closet floor.

Grantaire shakes his head. “We’ve been together for two years.”

“And—he left you here?”

“It was punishment. I was bad. I’m always bad.” Grantaire is shaking, gripping his knees like he has to hold himself together.

“I- Grantaire, can I touch you?”

Grantaire nods. Enjolras tentatively reaches out a hand, but instinctively finds himself pulling Grantaire down to rest, curled up on his side, his head in Enjolras’ lap. Grantaire lets out a choked sob and his whole body goes limp. 

“Okay?” Enjolras asks, not wanting to pressure the boy any more.

“It’s—thank you. Thank you. You don’t have to. You don’t. Want to touch me. Disgusting. Dirty.”

Enjolras runs his fingers through Grantaire’s hair, trying to soothe him. “That’s not true. I—I want—“ Enjolras bites his lip, uncertain. “Grantaire, if you were mine, I’d never leave you like this. I don’t care what you did.”

“Disobeyed,” Grantaire says. “Sorry.”

“What do you—“

Grantaire rolls over a little, displaying the nine fresh whip marks across his back. He peels his hands away from his face at last, and Enjolras can see a tenth, bright red and bleeding in places, on the left side of his face. “He told me to take it quietly. Couldn’t. Pathetic.”

“Grantaire, I—“

“I’m sorry,” Grantaire says again, tears welling over. “I tried so hard. I want to be good, I promise, I do, I try—“

“Shh.” Enjolras traces a finger down Grantaire’s cheek, avoiding the bleeding welt. “You are good, R. So good. Trying is enough. You are enough.”

Grantaire is crying again, helpless, broken sobs.

“And no one has the right to hurt you this way. Much less do this to you and then leave. It’s cruel, and it isn’t your fault. It isn’t.”

Grantaire shakes his head, and Enjolras curls his fingers in Grantaire’s hair, stilling the motion.

“But you haven’t been left alone. I’m here. And I’m going to do everything I can to take care of you.”

“You- you don’t even know me.”

“I want to.” Enjolras takes a deep breath, weighing whether or not it’s all right to make this confession now, when Grantaire is so vulnerable. “I want you.”


	6. Chapter 6

Grantaire knows he’s being bad.

Well, he already has. He’s disobeyed and dissapointed his dom tonight and he knows this wouldn’t exactly make Sir happy.

He’s curled up in someone else’s arms, letting someone else touch him, enjoying it. And he knows he’s supposed to be getting punished. Sir didn’t leave him here so Enjolras could comfort Grantaire and make him feel special and safe. Sir left him here so he would be frightened and alone and he’d learn his lesson, he wouldn’t fuck up again like he did tonight.

But, terrible though it is, Grantaire can’t find it in himself to be sorry.

He wants this so much. He’s wanted Enjolras—his touch, his attention, his desire—from the first second they met. The attraction between them was so palpable, like electricity. And he’s wanted comfort for so long. He’s stayed up nights dreaming of being held close, of being told he’s good enough.

The two together are so addictive he doesn’t know if he can resist.

“I—Enjolras—“

“I’m sorry,” he says almost at once, and Grantaire wants to take back the words, beg Enjolras to take him, to want him. “I shouldn’t have—not now. Not when you’re so— What I want doesn’t matter. Not right now.” Enjolras kisses his forehead, tentatively. “Can I take you home?”

Grantaire flinches. “I can’t—“

“To your home.”

“Not sure if I’m… if I’m ready.”

“You’re too hurt to move? Grantaire, we need to call a doctor if you—“

“No. I mean, he’s gonna be mad still. Probably. And I don’t know if I can face him again.”

Enjolras’ eyes widen in shock. “You’re going back to him? After what he did to you?”

Grantaire shrugs. “Nowhere else to go.”

“You could come with me,” Enjolras offers almost automatically.

“You don’t even know me.”

“I know you deserve better than to be beaten and left all alone.”

Grantaire, shameless, nuzzles into Enjolras’ arms, resting his head on the other man’s chest. He soaks up the comfort he hasn’t earned while he still can. “I really don’t.”

“Grantaire, please,” Enjolras says quietly. “Please. Don’t go back to him.”

Grantaire can’t meet his eyes. He feels so guilty and ashamed when a second ago he’d felt nothing but good. 

He wants this. He wants so badly to take Enjolras’ offered comfort, to run into his arms. He wants to go home with Enjolras and stay with him and be his. 

But he can’t do it. He doesn’t deserve it, but it isn’t that. 

He already belongs to someone else. He’s spent so long with his dom, trying to be good, just trying to please him. And again and again, he’s failed. He’s failed so many times that sometimes he thinks he ought to just give up, ought to accept that he’s worthless, but no matter what Sir always gives him a second chance. Sir knows how stupid and broken he is and accepts him anyway.

And Enjolras doesn’t know that. He thinks Grantaire is something other than what he is, something good. He thinks Grantaire deserves pleasure, comfort, care. And he’s wrong. 

If Grantaire goes with him, accepts the good things he hasn’t earned, isn’t good enough for, then someday maybe Enjolras will find out. Will recognize that Grantaire is the worthless stupid whore he is.

And then he’ll make Grantaire leave and Grantaire will have no one, nothing at all. 

Grantaire knows he isn’t strong enough to be on his own. Why else would he have stayed for so long with Sir, with a man who humiliates and beats him? Grantaire accepts it because he’s weak and worthless and now he doesn’t know what he’d be without it.

“I have to,” Grantaire whispers, flinching. He doesn’t want Enjolras to be angry at him, can’t bear to imagine the looks of disappointment he’s so used to from Sir coming from that angel’s face.

To his surprise, Enjolras doesn’t lash out, doesn’t hit him or shout or walk away. Instead, he very gently cups Grantaire’s cheek, stroking his face soothingly, lovingly. “All right,” Enjolras says. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. It’s too much pressure, especially right now. I’ll give you my number and address, and contact information for some of my friends. When you’re ready, we’ll take care of you. I promise.”

Grantaire nods, so grateful, tears spilling forth, and Enjolras sighs fondly and pulls Grantaire close again.


	7. Chapter 7

Enjolras feels sick at the thought of what he’s doing. This man is so vulnerable, and he’s clearly being mistreated by his partner. To let him go back is unthinkable, but to try to coerce him into doing what Enjolras wants seems even worse. Surely he’s been manipulated and ordered around enough. 

He’s so grateful he has this, though. Grantaire is letting him be close, even if it’s only for a moment- letting Enjolras hold him, comfort him, care for him.

Enjolras hadn’t realized until tonight just how much was missing from his life. He has been repressing his sexual needs for a very long time, no longer even really noticed the occasional urge to touch, to kiss, to fuck, but this simpler and deeper contact he hadn’t even known to long for.

This is the dominance he never thought he could let himself express. This is what it means—holding Grantaire, frightened and vulnerable. Living with the knowledge that he cannot fix Grantaire or save him, that he can only offer what Grantaire will take. The fact that he wants to hold Grantaire down and kiss him but only so he knows that he is wanted and safe, and the fact that Enjolras cannot do any of those things except as much as Grantaire lets him.

It is a huge, aching, beautiful, agonizing desire, and he doesn’t know what to do.

He kisses the top of Grantaire’s head, softly, feather-light. Luckily, Grantaire doesn’t reject the touch, instead curling closer into Enjolras’ chest. 

“I don’t want to go,” Grantaire says quietly.

“Does that mean you’re going to?”

“Yes. It does.” Grantaire hesitates. “I don’t want to stay gone too long. He’ll be mad.”

“Grantaire…”

“Sorry. Shouldn’t have said.”

“It’s all right, R. Just—you seem so frightened. Of him. And that’s not right.”

“Don’t say I deserve better because you don’t know that. You don’t know me.”

Enjolras stiffens a little at the comment. It stings, because it’s true. Regardless of the deep connection he may feel with this boy, he doesn’t really know Grantaire at all. “I want to,” he says, finding the self-control to keep his voice gentle, not to snap at him. “Even if you… even if you are going to stay with this man who terrifies you, who beats you in public and leaves you half-dressed and traumatized to find your way home.” 

Oops. There goes his self-control. 

Grantaire tenses, pulling away. “As I said. You don’t know me. And I don’t think you precisely know the intricacies of my relationship. Or any relationship.”

“I—I am—the fact that I am inexperienced doesn’t make it less obvious that you’re being mistreated, Grantaire.”

“And the fact that you find it obvious doesn’t make it any of your business.”

“It’s my business when I have to hold you for an hour while you cry!” Enjolras snaps, and immediately regrets it. Grantaire slides off his lap and stands up, turning away. His arms are crossed and his shoulders tensed. Enjolras stands as well, gently touching his arm. “I didn’t… I didn’t mean it like that. I don’t think of it… of this, as a hardship. Not at all. I’m grateful that I was able to be here for you when you needed help, and I wish I could be so more often. Forgive me.”

“Nothing to forgive,” Grantaire says, turning around and giving Enjolras a cheery, false smile. “It’s fine. Like I said, I ought to be getting home.”

“At least let me get you a cab, R. You… you don’t even have shoes, and it’s two in the morning. You can’t walk home like this.”

“Sir doesn’t let me carry money,” Grantaire says, like that’s perfectly normal, and Enjolras feels a sense of rage at the same time as he is a little relieved. At last, something he can do for Grantaire.

“You must allow me to pay for the cab.”

Grantaire looks down, clearly reluctant. But he also doesn’t seem to want to walk home in the middle of the night, half-dressed and badly beaten, so he shrugs his agreement.

“Thank you,” Enjolras says, his calm demeanor restored. He offers Grantaire his hand as they exit the storage space. Grantaire leans on him just slightly, clearly badly hurt from his beating. “Do you need any medical attention? I have a friend who could help, and I promise I would take you home right after.”

Grantaire shakes his head. “It’s not bad. Just the one on my face. Whips hurt a lot, but they don’t do much damage.”

“Your skin-“

“Will heal, Enjolras. It’s not like I’ve never been whipped before.”

“Of course not,” Enjolras mutters under his breath, and Grantaire raises an eyebrow.

“I am, in fact, a masochist. This may seem strange to you, but—“

“It’s not that. There’s nothing wrong with a little consensual whipping. There’s something wrong with trauma. And you should never hit someone’s face, that’s just asking for trouble. Well, maybe an open-handed slap—“

“You seem to know a little something about this,” Grantaire notices, and it’s Enjolras’ turn to blush.

“I may have… well, there’s an interest… I haven’t ever…”

“You want to top but you’re a virgin,” Grantaire deduces, and Enjolras flushes bright pink. 

“That… that about sums it up, actually.”

“Alas, I cannot allow you to practice on me,” Grantaire laments exaggeratedly. “Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll find plenty of other willing subs and forget all about me.” 

“That isn’t what I want,” Enjolras begins, but a cab is pulling up, and Grantaire is climbing into it. Enjolras hands the driver thirty dollars, still trying to protest to Grantaire. “Not all I want. I—give me a chance—“

And the cab is pulling away, and Enjolras feels horribly guilty, incredibly overwhelmed, and, frankly, pathetic as he calls afterwards, “Please! Grantaire! You know how to find me! I want to help!”

The cab rolls around the corner and Grantaire is gone.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abuse trigger warning like whoa.

To Grantaire’s immense surprise, Sir isn’t angry when he gets home. Instead, he just lets Grantaire get some much-needed rest. He wakes up in the morning (okay, technically around 1:30 in the afternoon) to find Sir gone, probably to work, and a note on the counter.

“Get dinner ready for me when I get home. Wash the floors. Kneel next to the bed and get yourself off. You took your punishment well.”

Grantaire can’t help how happy that makes him. Praise from his dom is rare and precious. He has to work for every scrap of the approval. To be given a reward as well—Grantaire doesn’t even remember the last time he’d been given permission to come. He often gets off without permission during a scene, and is always punished promptly and harshly. It kind of ruins the fun of orgasming. Now Sir isn’t even here to hurt or humiliate him during or after.

The prospect of some actual sexual enjoyment cheers Grantaire up for the entire afternoon. He makes chili and leaves it on the stove to simmer so he doesn’t have to worry about that, and then washes the floors—not exactly the stuff his fantasies of servicing a dom had been made of, but he’ll take what he can get.

Then he kneels, as he’d been ordered, closes his eyes, and slowly breathes a few times. It takes a minute to relax enough that he can really get aroused. He’s gotten so used to fighting this. But this time he can’t. If he doesn’t come before Sir gets back, he knows he’ll be in so much trouble. He reaches up to his chest, pinching at his nipples like he remembers he used to, years ago, whe he was allowed to masturbate freely. 

He often took this position, on his knees. He would always imagine there was someone there, a strong, dominant presence, telling him what to do. Sometimes he was showing off for their pleasure, touching himself as they ordered, but more often he would lose himself in the fantasy of getting them off, usually with his mouth. And so he allows himself to take refuge in that same, familiar fantasy.

He imagines someone standing in front of him, smiling gently. His blonde hair is falling in his eyes, but Grantaire can still read the kindness in them—and the desire. This man is totally focused on Grantaire, on the submission, the pleasure, that Grantaire has to offer to him.

And Grantaire is willing to give.

He imagines a firm hand on his neck, those soft, strong fingers he’d felt in his just the other night. Enjolras guides him forward, steering but not forcing Grantaire’s mouth to his hard cock, jutting out of the well-fitted pants Enjolras had been wearing the other night. 

Grantaire wraps his own fingers around his cock, jerking it roughly as he imagines Enjolras letting Grantaire have his way at first, giving Grantaire a few minutes to draw Enjolras’ cock between his lips, to taste it and become acquainted with the weight of it. His hand takes on a steady rhythm as he imagines Enjolras realizing what he can do, what a good boy he can be, and tangling his fingers hard in Grantaire’s hair as he forces his head down, making him take what Enjolras wants to give him.

He imagines the sting of Enjolras’ palm across his face, a hard, fast slap, but more than that the taste, the heavy, choking presence, that Enjolras would be in his mouth. He imagines being permitted to make Enjolras come, to taste his release.

Now, as he touches himself, he pretends it is at Enjolras’ order, for Enjolras’ pleasure. He imagines himself being told all the things he was last night—that he’s good, that he’s perfect the way he is, that he deserves pleasure and safety, not pain and rejection. Enjolras would hold him after, would take him into his arms and say how good he was, would care for him. Grantaire imagines the sweetness of a kiss, pressed against his forehead—no, remembers it, remembers Enjolras’ gentle, soft lips, the tenderness of his touch, all the want that was written in that one simple gesture, and he comes.

Grantaire allows himself a second to linger in the feeling before making himself get up and clean up.

Sir comes home about an hour later. Grantaire serves his dinner and kneels, as he’s accustomed, on the ground beside him.

“Did you have a good day, my slut?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I take it you enjoyed your orders.”

“Very much, sir. Thank you for letting me.”

“No trouble to me, whore. Did you think about me?”

Grantaire freezes. He wants, desperately, to lie. He knows he’ll be punished if he tells the truth, knows it’ll be terrible. He can’t even imagine what Sir is going to do to him for admitting that he wants someone else, that he came thinking of someone other than his Dom. And he’ll deserve it, too, for being such a slut. Can’t even control his own imagination, much less his body that had so treacherously willingly yielded to Enjolras’ comforting hands last night.

But he can’t lie to his dom. He wants to—he even thinks he’s such a miserable waste of a submissive that he’d be willing to, rather than face his deserved punishment—but he’s just not a good enough liar.

And lying is one of their rules. Grantaire has to be honest, always, he’s promised Sir that—he’s promised himself that.

He can’t lie. Sir would know. Sir would be even angrier than he’s already going to be and then he’d get the truth out of Grantaire anyway and it just isn’t worth it. He has to be honest, no matter what it costs him. No matter how badly this is going to hurt.

“No, sir.”

“Excuse me?”

“I didn’t, sir.”

“Well then, what were you thinking about?” His voice is so calm, so impossibly, traitorously calm, and Grantaire just knows it’s prefiguring a storm. 

“Enjolras,” Grantaire whispers, eyes trained at the ground.

“Who is Enjolras?” and now there’s the slightest hint of mocking, as his voice mangles Enjolras’ name, and Grantaire flinches.

“He helped me home last night. From the club. It was nothing, I-“

“So you’re telling me you didn’t get home on your own? You, what, you fucked some random guy for a lift home? And now you’re getting off thinking about him, isn’t that sweet-“

“I didn’t—we didn’t have sex, I promise—“

“I don’t give a fuck,” Sir says, and now he’s angry. Now he’s so angry, and Grantaire is terrified, and he has to control himself, can’t start crying, can’t show Sir how frightened he is. “You were supposed to take your fucking punishment, you worthless fucking whore, and instead you take help from a stranger. You think you’re allowed to do that? You think you’re fucking allowed to speak to anyone without my permission?”

“No, sir. I’m sorry.”

“We’ll see about that. We’ll see how much of a slut you are for someone else when I’m fucking done with you.”

Grantaire doesn’t know what that means, but he’s pretty sure it’s going to be awful. He makes one last pathetic attempt. “Please, sir-“

Sir’s hand hits his face hard. Grantaire can feel blood where he’d bitten the inside of his cheek. “Not another fucking word out of you. Not now, not til I say you’re allowed to speak. Understand?”

Grantaire nods desperately.

“I don’t think you do. I don’t think you know just how worthless a piece of shit you really are.” Sir’s hand draws across his cheek, gentle now, like he’s soothing a nervous animal. “Don’t worry. I’ll give you what you need. I won’t stop until you understand.”

And now Grantaire can’t stop the tears. They flow out, helpless and overwhelming, as he bites back the sound of sobs. He doesn’t know if he’s allowed to make them.

Sir stands up abruptly, walking away from the table and his still half-eaten dinner. He leaves the apartment, locking the door behind him, leaving Grantaire there, waiting, terrified.


	9. Chapter 9

Enjolras spends most of the next day feeling terrifically, unapologetically sorry for himself.

He wants Grantaire so badly.

He would take such good care of Grantaire.

And Grantaire still chose to go back to that man instead of letting Enjolras help.

Enjolras wouldn’t expect a thing from him, wouldn’t ever make their relationship sexual if that wasn’t what Grantaire wanted (even though the sacrifice would be huge, because oh does Enjolras want).

And he’s been rejected. Enjolras is not often rejected. Admittedly, he doesn’t spend a lot of time seeking out new friends or romantic partners. Friends he generally finds through the cause, and romantic partners throw themselves at him on a regular basis, to little interest on his part.

Enjolras has always had a low sex drive, and extremly particular tastes. Dating and lovemaking are somewhere long after establishing justice in the world on Enjolras’ personal list of priorities.

Or they were until he met Grantaire.

Now he thinks of little else. He’s distracted through the afternoon’s meeting, still thinking of how Grantaire had looked up at him—first adoring and tentative, his body yielding and needy. It had felt so good to be wanted the way Grantaire had wanted him to be a source of comfort and help for someone so clearly in need.

And then later, when Grantaire had been bitter, angry, furious… that had been, oddly, good too. He’d enjoyed the way their minds came together, Grantaire’s quick wit even when it could be cruel. He wants to see that mind free of fear, knowing safety and the happiness Enjolras would like to think he could bring Grantaire.

He wants that so badly. It’s not fucking or possessing Grantaire Enjolras wants, but bringing him the pleasure that seems to have been long missing from his life.

Enjolras allows himself to imagine, that night, that Grantaire is in the bed with him. The weight of the other man in his arms had felt so good, nearly perfect, except that Enjolras had known all along it couldn’t last.

If it could, if Grantaire was in his arms to stay, that would be perfect. It would be everything Enjolras wants.

And Enjolras would be so sure to look after him, too. Would take care of him and protect him. Grantaire would be happy. Enjolras would make sure of it with every fibre in his being.

He lets himself fall asleep imagining that, imagining Grantaire’s sweet, soft smile as he falls asleep in Enjolras’ arms. He dreams of Grantaire, doing nothing special, just making breakfast in Enjolras’ underused kitchen, kissing Enjolras as he reaches for the mugs over the sink.

Enjolras wakes up hard and frustrated. He spends the day in a haze, thinking of little but Grantaire. He remembers the dream at breakfast, wonders if Grantaire can cook, how he takes his coffee. He goes for his morning run and pictures Grantaire there, teasing him gently, egging him on. He imagines Grantaire curled up, head in his lap, as he studies, and Grantaire’s face in the crowd when he meets with the Amis. 

He orders Chinese for dinner and absent-mindedly doubles his order, as if Grantaire were really going to be there. He doesn’t have the heart to call back and fix his mistake once he realizes.

Finally, around ten o’clock, as he’s cleaning up the dishes, his phone buzzes.

Enjolras has very carefully been avoiding checking it every two seconds. He’s wanted to, certainly, but he’s studiously avoided it because that just feels like jinxing himself. Now, at last, a text has come.

He scans the number first. It isn’t a name in his phone, and the area code is local. Not a distant relative then, nor one of his friends.

He very, very slowly allows himself to open up the phone. He scarcely dares to hope it’s going to be Grantaire. It’s so soon, it’s so very soon, and it probably won’t be him. It could be spam, could be his phone company, could be anything.

He doesn’t know. He can’t get too excited. It’s probably nothing. It’s probably—

The message is short, only one line. It’s typed out in all lower case, misspelt, clearly sent in a hurry.

Enjolras has never been so happy to get a text in all his life. It reads “this is R coming 2nite srry don’t txt back”. 

He skims it twice, wondering why he isn’t allowed to respond. He wants to offer Grantaire a ride, to come pick him up instead of making him walk through the cold from wherever that terrible man is keeping him. He wants to see Grantaire as soon as possible, wants the good part- the part where Enjolras can take care of him- to start right now.

He understands, though, that that is maybe impossible. That maybe Grantaire isn’t ready, not quite.

He might need a little time. It’s clearly hard for him to ask for help. And he’s given Enjolras this much of a chance.

He’s coming now. He’s coming here.

Enjolras makes Grantaire a plate of the Chinese leftovers, not sure if he’ll have eaten, and puts the kettle on. It’s chilly and raining out, and if he has to walk, he’ll doubtless appreciate a cup of tea to warm him up.

Oh, Enjolras can’t wait to take care of him. He hadn’t even understood, not til today, just how much was really missing from his life. Just who was missing. 

Enjolras hums to himself as he bustles around the apartment, trying to make everything as nice as possible. He sets up the spare fold-out bed in his office, where he intends to sleep, and changes the sheets on his own bed for Grantaire to stay in. He tidies the already-immaculate surfaces in the room and wipes down the kitchen counters and basically bounces around, mad with energy, until there is finally, finally, a quiet, soft knock on the door.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge trigger warning on this chapter. More details at the bottom if you are triggered by sexual violence, because the specifics are spoilerish. Please skip to the bottom if you feel you need the tw before reading, and contact me if you'd like a summary of the chapter instead of reading potentially triggering stuff.

Grantaire barely makes it up the three flights of stairs to Enjolras’ apartment. He actually crumbles to his knees right after knocking. He wants to maintain appearances, wants Enjolras to think well of him, to think of him as other than pathetic and worthless, but there’s no way to hide the state he’s in.

The door opens almost instantly. Enjolras must have gotten his text, must have waited for him. Grantaire feels a twinge of regret for the amount of time it had taken him to limp his way over here, every step throbbing through his beaten body.

“Grantaire,” Enjolras breathes, and then Enjolras’ arms are around him, so careful and so gentle that Grantaire doesn’t flinch, doesn’t pull away. Enjolras is warm and Grantaire is so cold, freezing (it’s a warm enough night, but Grantaire’s mind distantly supplies the suggestion that he may be going into shock. “You’re here.”

“Can we—can we get inside?”

“Of course.”

Enjolras lets Grantaire lean on him—he’s a slight man, and Grantaire’s build is stocky, Enjolras can’t lift him, but he does help hold him up, helps him into the apartment and closes the door.

“Where would you be most comfortable? Chair, sofa—“

Grantaire shrugs. The worst pain is in his ass, obviously, so sitting is out, but he has some nasty bruises along his ribs and wouldn’t want to lie on his side. His nipples are so sore he doesn’t know if he can be on his front (doesn’t know if he can tolerate the exposed position, even though he knows Enjolras wouldn’t want him like this, wouldn’t hurt him even if he did). Kneeling is generally his go-to, but his knees are sore from holding the position for so long earlier.

“Would you like to sit and talk? I could get you some food, or water… or just sleep. Whatever you want, R. You’ll have to—well, no, you don’t have to. I would appreciate it if you could tell me what happened, but you don’t need to, and certainly not right now.”

“Shower,” Grantaire rasps through his bruised throat. “Please.”

“Okay,” Enjolras says, his voice still gentle. “Whatever you want.”

Grantaire’s eyes fill with tears at that, at the simple promise. “Thank you,” he says, although it hurts to speak.

“It’s over now, Grantaire. It’s all over, and you’re with me, and you’re safe. I’m going to take care of you now, I swear.”

Grantaire starts to cry properly, and Enjolras hugs him tight, holding him close.

“Come on, let’s get you in the shower.” Enjolras hesitates. “Do you need me to come with you?”

Grantaire flinches. He doesn’t want Enjolras to see him like this. He knows he owes him an explanation, why he’s shown up at his door battered and bruised and demanding to be taken care of like a child, but he doesn’t want Enjolras to see the filthy evidence written all over his body.

Enjolras misinterprets his reaction. “I promise I won’t touch you any more than is necessary to keep you upright. I’m a little frightened you’ll fall over if you go by yourself, but obviously it’s up to you.”

“You can come,” Grantaire says. “But I’m—I’m—“

Enjolras very gently touches Grantaire’s face. Grantaire realizes his lip is split and bleeding, just next to where Enjolras’ fingers rest. “I will help you. There’s nothing to be frightened of anymore.”

Grantaire can hardly stand the intensity of Enjolras’ eyes, dropping his own gaze to the ground. Enjolras wraps his arm back around Grantaire’s waist and helps him to the clean but small bathroom. Enjolras locks the door and Grantaire hesitates. “Should—should I—“

“You could take your clothes off. You don’t have to. I have a spare pair of swim trunks I could lend you if you like, or you can shower in your clothes if you truly don’t want to take anything off, and I’ll get you dry ones when you get out. It’s fine. I’ll turn my back if you’d like, or—“

“It’s fine, I just… I felt like it would be weird to start whipping my clothes off,” Grantaire says, managing one entire, semi-normal sentence before he breaks into a spasmodic coughing fit, his throat unable to handle any more strain.

“If it helps, I’ll get naked too. Since I also have to get in the shower. How hot do you want it?” Enjolras says, shrugging off his shirt.

“What?” Grantaire replies, momentarily confused. It’s the trauma. Definitely the trauma. Okay, it’s partially the sight of shirtless Enjolras, pale and beautiful, his slim, muscled body turning away from Grantaire but allowing just a peek of his sculpted chest.

“The water. Will it hurt you if it’s too warm?”

“No, hot. Hot is good.” Grantaire is blushing. Oh, good, he’s staring too, this is ideal, this is really the perfect fucking time to be getting all flustered over how fucking attractive Enjolras is. At least he’s too exhausted to get an inconvenient erection.

Grantaire strips off his own clothes, letting Enjolras help him under the water spray. He tries studiously not to look at Enjolras’ naked body too much.

“Grantaire—“

Grantaire flinches. He’s seen. Of course he’s seen, there’s no way he could miss it, it’s—

Enjolras is whispering to him now, soothing him as much as possible. “I’m sorry. I was just shocked.”

Grantaire doesn’t answer, just leans into Enjolras so he can grab the soap and start washing the filth off his body. He cleans his thighs and ass, scrubbing hard, using his nails to scrape off the come. It’s dried to his body, sticky and disgusting, and it takes force to get it off.

Probably less force than he’s using, though, because he can feel the filth inside himself, so deep he’ll never get it out, and Enjolras is gently taking his hands. “Don’t, R. You’re going to hurt yourself.”

“My back. My back, I can’t reach high enough—“

“Let me?” Enjolras requests, and Grantaire turns so that Enjolras can wash the last streaks of white off his skin. His hands are soft, almost tentative, but Grantaire feels clean at last where Enjolras has touched him. Enjolras puts the bar of soap back on its little shelf and supports Grantaire again, holding him up under the spray of warm water. Part of Enjolras wants to stay, just to let himself drown, but another part wants desperately to get out of this situation, to be clothed again, to be a little less helpless.

Enjolras flips off the water and helps Grantaire out, wrapping him almost at once in a warm, fluffy towel. “I’ll go get you some clean clothes,” he pronounces. “Can you lean against the sink til I get back to hold yourself up?”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll be back as soon as I can,” Enjolras promises, disappearing out the door still completely naked and dripping wet. Grantaire feels a flash of guilt for taking his only towel and making him ruin his beautiful apartment, and then a stir of arousal. 

He barely has time to memorize the sight of Enjolras’ bare form before the man has returned, having procured a second towel and two sets of sweatpants and t-shirts.

“My clothes might be a little tight on you,” Enjolras offers apologetically as he dresses quickly, then stoops to help Grantaire get his sweatpants on (and Grantaire can’t even deal with how pitiful it is that he can’t put his own fucking clothes on).

“That’s… that’s okay.” 

When Grantaire is clean (physically, he feels as if he’ll never feel clean again) and dressed, Enjolras helps him out to the sofa. He winds up lying down half on his side, half on his back, far enough back to avoid the bruising around his ribs but not far enough that his ass is in any danger of contact with even the softest of cushions. “Pillow?” Grantaire requests.

Enjolras moves to sit beside him, then hesitates. “Grantaire?”

“Yes?”

“I’m gonna get you a glass of water and some ibuprofen,” he says, instead of what he was thinking, but when he returns he has clearly mustered up the courage to say what was on his mind. As he helps Grantaire sit up to drink the water, he asks, “Do you… do you want… touching?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m sorry. That was incoherent. Does it make things better or worse if we’re in physical contact? That is, is it a necessary evil because you can’t stand up, or is it comforting?”

“Very comforting,” Grantaire admits.

“Then… would it be okay if you lean on me?”

Grantaire blushes. “Yeah. Really okay.” 

Enjolras smiles down at him and shifts over so Grantaire can easily position his head on Enjolras’ lap. He pets through Grantaire’s hair for a few moments, til Grantaire is almost comfortable, can almost get a breath without wincing in pain or flushing with humiliation. 

“So. I think I’m ready to talk,” Grantaire says.

“Okay,” Enjolras says. “You don’t have to. And you can stop anytime you want. I won’t be angry, or push you, I promise. Let me know if there’s anything at all I can do to make this more comfortable for you.”

“Thanks,” Grantaire says. “Um. So. My… he… I got home. You took me home. He wasn’t mad then, but I—I messed up, real bad, and he… do I have to tell you what I did?” Grantaire doesn’t want Enjolras to know about his crush. He’s embarassed enough as it is.

“You don’t have to tell me anything. I’d like to know what happened to you, so I can treat the injuries you have, but you don’t owe me a thing.”

“O-okay. So. He was mad. And. Said he was… I was a filthy whore and I was going to get what I deserved and because… because I didn’t take my punishment and I let you drive me home and because I… I… you… he…” Grantaire can hardly breathe. He can’t get the words out, can’t say what happened to him.

“Easy, R. We have all the time in the world,” Enjolras soothes. “No rush. Shh.”

Grantaire breathes with the rhythm of Enjolras’ hands in his hair and then lets his eyes squeeze shut as he confesses it. “He tied me to the bed, ankles to the bedpost, on my knees, my arms behind my back. He blindfolded me and put a ring gag in my mouth—you know, to hold my mouth open, but I couldn’t talk. And then he had… people, I don’t know if they were his friends or what, but… come in. And. Told them they could… could pay him to do whatever they wanted to me because then he’d… he’d get some use out of me at least and I’d learn what it really meant to be his whore.”

“Grantaire,” Enjolras whispers, horrified, and Grantaire can’t bear to open his eyes, can’t let himself see the disappointment and disgust that must be on Enjolras’ face. But Enjolras is still softly stroking his hair so he must not be totally revolted and now Grantaire can’t stop talking about it, has to share what he’s been through.

“I tried to count, I think there were about fifteen of them? They all went more than once. My mouth and my ass and a couple of them hit me, that’s why my ribs are all… and this one guy kept pinching my nipples and they… they spit in my face and I was bleeding by the time they all finished with me and Sir unlocked the cuffs and went out with them to a bar or something but one of them left their phone behind and I knew I had to get out because I couldn’t go through that again I can’t, Enjolras, I can’t, I know I don’t deserve any better but please, please, don’t make me go back—“

“I would never, ever allow you to go back there. Not while there is breath in my body,” Enjolras says, and Grantaire lets his eyes open. There’s a fervor on Enjolras’ face, a righteous fury Grantaire has never seen before, not on anyone. “And you do not deserve it, no one could deserve that, and I am horrified and appalled that such a thing happened to you, and we have time enough to care for and protect you and to make sure he will never hurt you again—and if I have to kill him with my bare hands, Grantaire, he will never touch you again—but for now, just know… you’re here. You’re with me. And you’re safe.”

Grantaire starts to cry again, and Enjolras bends nearly in two to gently kiss Grantaire’s forehead, long fingers wiping away his tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: semi-explicit description of gang rape orchestrated by a partner and the aftermath thereof. The actual assault does not happen in this chapter but is discussed with some amount of detail.


	11. Chapter 11

Enjolras pets Grantaire’s hair gently while Grantaire cries til there are no more tears left in him. He’s never felt more helpless in his whole life. Grantaire sobs, on and on, til his shoulders are shaking and he can hardly breathe. And Enjolras doesn’t know what to do. 

He can’t promise that it’s going to be all right, because nothing could be less all right than this. He can’t tell Grantaire that he’ll make it all better because he doesn’t know how that’s going to happen. 

All he can say is, “I’m here. You’re with me now. It’s not your fault. None of it,” again and again, and Grantaire won’t stop crying.

It’s maybe half an hour before he calms down enough to speak again. “I’m sorry,” Grantaire says, his voice hoarse and broken. He sounds exhausted.

“For what?”

“I… I… I cried all over you, and I’m here in your house just… making you take care of me, and I’m… I’m a mess.”

“It’s all right, Grantaire.”

“You… you thought…”

“What?” Enjolras asks, his voice as gentle as possible.

“I know you wanted… wanted me. You thought… this isn’t what you wanted. This.” He gestures at himself. “I can’t be… Can’t be normal. Can’t be good.”

“You are,” Enjolras says quietly. “And what I want is to take care of you. I didn’t… I didn’t know this was going on, but I don’t mind that you need help.”

Grantaire just shakes his head. “Too needy. Stupid.”

“It is normal to require emotional care after an intense scene. Not that what you went through counts, because it clearly wasn’t consensual, but still. I assume, given past evidence, that aftercare was not a big part of your relationship.”

Grantaire laughs, a harsh, bitter sound. “No. No, it was not.”

“And I sensed… the other night, it seemed like something you enjoyed. Something you want. And it is what I want. If… if this is going to be a relationship—and I’m not asking for that, I’m not pressuring you for anything, please understand that—“

“You would still want…”

“Yes,” Enjolras breathes. “If you do. I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anyone, but what I mean… I mean I want to take care of you. I want to hold you. I want to make you feel safe. All of that. That’s what I want.”

“Oh,” Grantaire says, the last of his tears dripping from his eyes. Enjolras wipes them away, patiently. Then, quietly, he whispers, “I want that too.”

“We don’t have to figure this out tonight,” Enjolras assures him. “Just let me take care of you, and we’ll figure out what it all means soon.”

“Okay,” Grantaire says, shoulders trembling. “I—Enjolras—“

“What is it?”

“I’m… I think I’m gonna cry again. I don’t know why. I just… it’s not… I’m…” And then he starts sobbing, dry, quiet sobs. There are no tears left in him but the sobs still come out of his body in great gasps.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. Cry all you want. You’ve been through so much tonight. I can’t even imagine. You’re so brave and so strong and I am… I am amazed by you.”

That only makes the crying worse, but somehow Enjolras feels like that isn’t a bad thing. Grantaire must need the emotional release, and it at least indicates that, though he’s embarassed, he feels he can trust Enjolras with his vulnerability.

This time, when Grantaire stops crying, his eyes are red and swollen. 

“All right?” Enjolras asks.

Grantaire nods. “Yeah. Sleepy.”

“Let me put you in bed.”

This time, Grantaire doesn’t try to walk on his own or save his dignity. He leans heavily on Enjolras, letting himself be half-carried into the bedroom. Enjolras tucks him under the covers and kisses his forehead. 

“Sleep well. I’m—“

“Will you stay?” Grantaire asks plaintively, then flinches. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to. I’m sorry.”

“Shh,” Enjolras soothes. “Of course I will.”

“Really?”

“I would love to be with you,” Enjolras assures him. “I want you to sleep, though.”

“Kay,” Grantaire murmurs.

“I’ll be right here.” Enjolras crawls into bed next to Grantaire, winding an arm around the boy and pulling him into his side. Grantaire rests with his cheek on Enjolras’ shoulder, his arm slung around Enjolras’ waist. Enjolras rests his own arm on Grantaire’s back, fingers tangled in his hair.

“Thank you,” Grantaire says quietly.

“You’re welcome. Wake me up if you need anything. I mean it.”

“Yes, sir,” Grantaire replies, already half-asleep.

That stops Enjolras from following Grantaire into sleep. He watches Grantaire’s face go slack, relaxed. Somehow, it only makes the bruises marring his cheek and neck seem more horrible. Grantaire is curled against him, breathing steadily. His trust is so deep, somehow, after everything he’s been through.

Enjolras craves that. He wants Grantaire to offer him everything. He wants to give him strength, but also to have him, to possess him.

And he doesn’t know if that’s right.

For so many years, Enjolras has denied himself. He’s known of his dominant desires since around the beginning of puberty, and had determined he could never indulge. He wants to make the world better, not worse. He wants to remove pain, not cause it, no matter what his traitorous thoughts might envision in the dead of night.

But Grantaire is so, so tempting. As he sleeps, trusting and at peace, Enjolras wants nothing more than to lay absolute claim to him. He wants to possess Grantaire completely, to have every part of him, and to use that power to make sure Grantaire always feels this safe.

He will take care of Grantaire. He knows he can trust himself with that much. He may even investigate the possibilities of a romantic relationship, if that’s what Grantaire wants. But he doesn’t know if he can trust himself to be Grantaire’s dominant, and he knows, deep in his heart, that Grantaire can’t be trusted to stop him.

Grantaire let some awful man who doesn’t even care about him rape and abuse him for two years. He would probably let Enjolras do anything. Certainly he feels guilty for accepting Enjolras’ kindness (what Enjolras would call human decency) and, besides that, he has nowhere else to go.

So it seems Enjolras will have to deny himself again. It hardly seems like a sacrifice, though, when he already has the wonderful reality of Grantaire in his arms.


	12. Chapter 12

The soreness is about a thousand times worse when Grantaire wakes up. The first thing he feels is agonizing pain all over his body, especially his knees and face and ribs. The second thing he feels is panic. He’s not where he’s supposed to be, not on his mat beside Sir’s bed. He’s in a bed. Grantaire hasn’t slept in a bed for years, not since Sir first took him in and they finalized their contract, and he’s not allowed to. Sir lets him on the bed sometimes, but only when he’s being fucked, and when he falls asleep afterwards without going back to his mat first he’s always woken up immediately and punished. He must have collapsed after his punishment yesterday, must not have made it to the floor, and if Sir finds him like this—

There is a knock on the door, and Grantaire realizes it’s Enjolras.

He’s run away. 

He’s lost Sir forever.

He isn’t sure whether he’s ecstatically grateful or utterly terrified.

“Morning,” Enjolras murmurs, opening the door.

“Good morning,” Grantaire squeaks in reply.

“How do you feel?”

“Sore,” Grantaire admits. “Lotta things hurt.”

Instantly, Enjolras is beside him, eyes wide with concern. “Would you like medical attention? I can take you to the hospital, or a clinic if you’d rather, or—“

“No. Please, don’t.” Grantaire can’t bear that, can’t possibly stand it. “Time’s it?”

“About three.”

“In the afternoon?” Grantaire squeaks. “Oh my god. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s no problem. Truly. You needed the rest.”

“Still. You certainly had things you needed to do today. Things other than looking after a hopeless stranger.”

“Clearly you’re no longer a stranger, R. I would like to think of you as a friend.”

“Friend?” Grantaire says, distantly. He remembers Sir telling him that he didn’t have friends, didn’t deserve friends, that no one but Sir would ever put up with a worthless piece of shit like him.

“If you like.”

“I’m… I’m sorry,” Grantaire says.

“It’s too early in the day to start apologizing. Come, let’s get some food in you. And I insist you get those bruises looked at.”

“No hospital, please—“

“Very well. I have two dear friends who are medical students. Either of them could come examine you, though… well, I’ll text Combeferre first. He is calm, and eminently reliable. He will tell no one of this without your permission, and will make sure you’re going to be all right. Physically, I mean.”

“If… If I have to.”

Enjolras hesitates. “You don’t have to, R. Nothing is a condition of you staying here, much less… much less of your safety. I will never hurt you. But I would like it if you would let someone take a look at you, because I am worreid for your well-being.”

“Okay,” Grantaire says quietly. “I’ll let your friend come examine me.”

“Thank you. Now, can I get you something to eat?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“But will you eat something? Toast and tea, maybe?”

“All right,” Grantaire agrees hesitantly. “Should I—“

“You can stay right there in bed.”

“But I don’t want to get crumbs all over your sheets.”

“I don’t want you getting hurt any worse than you already are. And I’m a hopeless cook, but toasting bread and boiling water I can handle.” Enjolras brushes his lips against Grantaire’s forehead carefully before leaving the room. “Holler if you need anything,” he says from the doorway.

“Okay,” Grantaire agrees. He keeps himself occupied by counting all the areas on his body that hurt, so he can make his report to the doctor as quickly as possible, and also so that he doesn’t panic and throw up all over Enjolras’ nice rug.

Before too long, Enjolras has returned with a mug in one hand and a plate in the other. He sets them down next to Grantaire. “I called Combeferre.”

“Okay.”

“He’ll be here in an hour or so. I want you to try and eat this, and then drink a glass of water, before then. Think that’s feasible?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” Enjolras slides back into bed next to him. “Let me know if you need help with anything.”

It’s weird, lying in a dom’s bed, eating food he made. It feels oddly backwards. Grantaire is not used to being taken care of, not used to anyone caring.

It feels strange, but it also feels very, very good.

He eats his toast obediently. It’s slightly burnt. The tea is good, though, strong and sweet the way he likes it. His stomach rebels only slightly as he eats and drinks, and he manages to keep everything down. 

“That’s good, Grantaire. Very good,” Enjolras praises, and Grantaire could cry. All the beatings, the humiliation, the suffering he’s endured to hear praise from Sir, hoping that someday he would deserve those words, and here they are. In the end, it took nothing at all, but it doesn’t feel less meaningful for that. If anything, it means more. Enjolras’ praise is untainted by misery or suffering. It’s just as sweet as he’s always imagined.

Enjolras notices his reaction to the simple words. “I’m sorry,” he begins. “I didn’t mean to patronize. I’m just trying to-“

“No!” Grantaire practically shouts. “It wasn’t… I don’t… You can… Please.”

Somehow, Enjolras deduces his meaning from all that. “All right,” he murmurs. “I will.” He leans over. “Please tell me if I’m being too forward, Grantaire.” And he gently kisses Grantaire’s cheek. “You’re a good boy, and you deserve good things. And I’d like to be the one to give them to you.”

Grantaire squeezes his eyes shut, trying to hold back tears. “Yes. Please. Please,” he whispers, leaning into Enjolras’ touch.


	13. Chapter 13

Enjolras excuses himself quickly to go call Combeferre. “Hello,” he says, and then, “Please come to my apartment.”

Combeferre is used to Enjolras’ crap at this point. “Anyone dead?”

‘No. That guy I told you about is in my apartment.”

“Grantaire?”

“Yeah. He’s not doing well. Can you come let me know whether or not it’s hospital time?”

“Absolutely. On my way.”

“Thank you,” Enjolras says, and the phone clicks off. He goes to get Grantaire a glass of water before reentering the bedroom. “Hello, R.”

“Hi.” Grantaire tries to smile. “Your friend coming?”

“Yes. Water?”

“Thank you.” Grantaire takes it and sips slowly. Enjolras sits at the foot of the bed.

“The thing I said. Before.”

“Yes?”

“This- us- and you don’t have to answer now, but… I was wondering what you would like our relationship to be. Do you want to stay here as a friend? Would you like help finding a place of your own? Or… are you interested in me in a romantic way? Because you know I am. And know that this is not a question you have to answer, or an answer that will change anything about… I won’t be angry, no matter what you say, and… not to patronize you or anything, I just, I know that with what you’ve been through…”

“Yes,” Grantaire says. 

“What?”

“I think you were trying to ask me out. In a very fumbly but endearing way. I was right, wasn’t I, when I said you were a virgin.”

“Maybe,” Enjolras confesses, blushing.

“So if you’re asking me out, the answer is yes. I would like to be your… I don’t know. Significant other. Cuddle buddy. Weird person crashing on your couch. Sub.”

“Really?” Enjolras blurts, then is immediately regretful. He doesn’t want to make Grantaire feel judged. That’s the last thing he wants. “I mean… I understand if you… that can be an aspect of our relationship, if you’d like. I’m just surprised because of the way you were mistreated in your last relationship.”

“I… I liked it. Most of the time. Or thought I did. Things were… I mean, I’m… I’m confused, honestly. Everything has changed so much, so fast. I don’t want to say that I… I just…” Grantaire blushes and won’t meet his eyes. “I want. With you. I wanted it with him, too, but it was never what I thought it would be. And I think it can be different. I think it can be better.”

“It can,” Enjolras promises. “It can or we won’t do it, R. Because I will not hurt you the way he did, no matter what. And if that means dominance and submission cannot be a part of my life, I am fine with that. Like you said, I’ve never… I mean, I’ve been successfully ignoring those urges for… For a while. I can keep doing so, indefinitely. And I will, if the alternative is willingly and knowingly hurting you.”

“I- okay.”

Enjolras, embarassed, realizes he’s sort of verged into vengeful revolutionary mode. He didn’t mean to get quite so intense. “I… I just have very strong feelings about this.”

“I can see that.”

“I want you to be happy. With me or not with me. I just… I just want to make things better for you.”

“You already have. So much. I never…” Grantaire closes his eyes, clearly realizing this more or less as he says this aloud. “I never would have left him if it weren’t for you. Isn’t that terrible? I would’ve just stayed with him and let him keep hurting me if i didn’t know… if I didn’t have you. And I know we didn’t know each other then, and don’t really now. I know it’s ridiculous and crazy and belongs more in… in some very weird romantic comedy than in real life, but I—you gave me hope. I believed in nothing while I was with him. I did not believe that things could ever be better. I did not believe that I could ever be happy. And I did not believe that I could ever deserve anything good. You made me believe again.”

“Grantaire,” Enjolras says, wonderingly.

“Kiss me?” Grantaire asks, and Enjolras smiles and softly presses his lips against Grantaire’s.

Combeferre knocks on the door. “Come in!” Enjolras shouts, pulling away from Grantaire with an apologetic expression. “We’ll continue this conversation,” he promises quietly.

“I should hope so,” Grantaire says. “And the things that… weren’t exactly conversing?”

“Of course,” Enjolras adds, and then Combeferre is in the room.

He shakes Grantaire’s hand, introducing himself. Grantaire looks positively nauseous even as he tries to reciprocate normalcy.

“I’m a medical student, and a friend of Enjolras’. What’s wrong?”

Grantaire looks at Enjolras. “Can you-“

“Of course.” He must be weary of telling this story. Living through it is enough. “Grantaire was sexually assaulted by a number of his former partner’s friends, and said partner. He has some bad bruising and possibly other injuries, but would prefer not to go to the hospital. Can you make sure he’s going to be all right?”

Grantaire nods, hiding his face in Enjolras’ shoulder, and Enjolras feels an incredible wave of protective devotion. Combeferre is his best friend, and Enjolras trusts him, but Enjolras would throw him out in a minute if he had to.

He would do anything to make Grantaire feel safe. To keep him believing.


	14. Chapter 14

Combeferre is quiet and faultlessly polite. He listens as Enjolras explains the story, and Grantaire peeks out from his hiding place in Enjolras’ shoulder to see his face, his calm expression.

“Thank you, Enjolras,” Combeferre replies. “If you could excuse us for a minute—“

Grantaire feels Enjolras shift underneath him, starting to move, and locks his fingers together, holding him in place. It’s selfish but he needs this. “Please,” he whispers. “Please, stay.”

“The examination I do will require that you take your clothes off,” Combeferre says calmly.

“I don’t care, I just—“

Enjolras reaches up, threading his fingers through Grantaire’s hair for a second. “I’m staying,” he says soothingly. “I’m right here.”

“Thank you.” Grantaire lets go of Enjolras, pulling away so he can strip off his clothes. He’s long since given up on feeling self-conscious about his body, since he was hardly ever allowed to wear clothes in Sir’s apartment. It started as a punishment, since he was so uncomfortable being looked at naked, and became normal.

Combeferre sucks in a breath when he sees the bruising on Grantaire’s back. “May I?” he asks, a hand hovering over the skin.

“Go ‘head,” Grantaire mumbles, biting his lip hard. Enjolras reaches for his hand, lacing his fingers with Grantaire’s, as Combeferre delicately presses a finger into the bruises. Grantaire cries out.

“What happened?”

“People hit me. Not sure with what. Could have been a boot, maybe a crop. Feels deep.”

“It is,” Combeferre confirms. “How much does it hurt, scale of one to ten?”

“Three. Five if you press.”

“Does it hurt when you breathe?”

“No.”

“Okay. There’s not much you can do—rest, alternate icing it for fifteen minutes every hour, but that’s about it. Have you used the bathroom since?”

“Yes.”

“Any bleeding then?”

“No. I bled… during, though.”

“From—“

“Anally,” Grantaire manages.

“I’ll have to… there could be tearing, and if there is, and it gets infected, you could get very sick. You’ll have to go to the hospital to get it sewn up if there’s tearing.”

“If there isn’t—“

“Then you should be fine here, if Enjolras promises to be rigorous about helping you with ice and ibuprofen to keep the swelling down.”

“Why do I feel like there’s a catch?” Grantaire mumbles.

“I’ll have to check. Internally. To see if there’s tearing.”

“Oh,” Grantaire breathes. Enjolras squeezes his hand.

“If an infection goes untreated, it could be—“

“Bad. I understand.” Grantaire flinches again. “And… I just… just realized that they didn’t— Condoms.”

“Oh.” Combeferre chews his lower lip. “There’s nothing I can do about that, you’ll have to go to a clinic after the exposure date—“

“I know,” Grantaire mutters.

“I should still check on tears as soon as possible. I have a glove in my bag, and lubricant, but I’m going to go wash my hands first. I’ll be right back.”

He goes, leaving Enjolras and Grantaire alone for a moment. Grantaire can’t look up at the other man, but Enjolras’ arms are back around him almost at once. “You’re doing so well,” Enjolras murmurs gently. “I’m proud.”

“I—“

“Do you want me to stay? I will, if you’d like, or I’ll give you privacy.”

“I don’t… please, I don’t want to be alone, I—“

“Okay,” Enjolras soothes. “That’s all I need to hear, R. I’m not going anywhere.”

And then Combeferre is back, with his hand in a medical glove and a bottle in his hand. He pops it open and slicks up a single finger. “I need to put this inside you. Just one finger. Is that okay?”

“Um. I guess it has to be.”

“Can you lie down on your stomach?”

Grantaire nods, manuevering into that position. Enjolras shifts with him, so he can rest his head in Enjolras’ lap, the other man stroking his hair. Grantaire tries to lose himself in that feeling, but he can’t, not when he feels the cold press of an unfamiliar finger against his swollen entrance. He winces, and then cries out as Combeferre presses it inside. He moves his finger around in a careful circle. Grantaire bites back the sounds of pain, embarassed. 

“Hurts?” Combeferre asks.

“Yes. Sorry. I’m sore.”

“I’m very nearly done.” Combeferre pulls his finger out shortly after, and Grantaire takes a deep breath as Enjolras helps him sit back up. 

“What’s the verdict?”

“No tears big enough for me to feel. There might be some—if you were bleeding, certainly, there were. And that means, the risk of infection—but there are no tears that need to be sewn up. If there were, they’re healing on their own.”

Grantaire sighs, relieved. 

“I’m going to wash up again and then get out of your hair. Grantaire, you should start with ice now.”

“Okay.” Grantaire grits his teeth. “Thank you.”

“Of course. I’m sorry it was so uncomfortable.”

“It had to be. I appreciate… you’re good at this,” Grantaire says. “You’ll be a good doctor.”

Combeferre looks exceedingly pleased. “Thank you. Enjolras, walk me out?”

“Of course, my friend. R, will you be all right?”

“I can lie in bed by myself for five minutes, yes.”

But of course the second they’re both gone, Grantaire feels the despair and humiliation he’d kept at bay wash over him. Enjolras has seen this. Seen everything. Knows how worthless and broken he is. And he’s still here, out of something, some twisted pity, because there is no way Grantaire could ever be good enough for him.

He curls around himself, hugging his knees, and squeezes his eyes shut, too upset to even get his clothes back on, to even cover himself up.

He feels so guilty for wishing Enjolras were here in the room. How pathetic is he, that he can’t even deal with being alone for a few minutes, he needs Enjolras so much—but he does.

He really does.


	15. Chapter 15

“Do you know what you’re getting yourself into?” Combeferre asks intently, as soon as the door is closed.

Enjolras frowns. “This is not up for discussion, my friend.”

“I know. I’m not suggesting you throw the boy out on the streets. But you have not called for a meeting of our friends for several days.”

“Everyone needs breaks.”

“You don’t. You never did before.”

“But now I…” Enjolras hesitates. “I have always had grand ideas. Grand plans. You know this. You are the one who tells me when I overstep, when my ideas become foolish dreams. It is you, so often you, who says that we must start by meeting the world how it is, by healing what we can. And this… this I can do.”

“Can you? Enjolras, you’ve never even… you’ve never been on a date. Now you’re moving in with someone you barely know, someone who is physically and emotionally traumatized.” Before Enjolras can protest again, Combeferre holds up a hand. “I am not saying I think you wrong to do it. I admire the kindness you’ve shown, and I hope… I hope you will find what you’re looking for, with him. I just hope that this newfound gentleness of yours will perhaps extend to yourself. Take care of yourself, my friend.”

Enjolras smiles. “You too. And thank you for coming today.”

Combeferre shakes his hand and heads out the door, and Enjolras returns to Grantaire’s side. The thought of letting Grantaire go is unbearable to him, even if Grantaire wanted to leave, which he clearly, very much, does not. 

And Enjolras, who has rarely allowed himself to want anything, wants Grantaire to stay as well.

He knocks on the door first, and there is no answer. He’s half-expecting that.

“Grantaire?”

Still nothing. He cracks the door open, and sees Grantaire curled up on his side, chest heaving. He’s crying.

Enjolras walks slowly to his side, kneeling next to the bed. “R?”

Grantaire looks up at him. “S-sorry.”

“It’s all right to cry. I’m sorry I had to leave you.”

“That’s all right,” Grantaire murmurs. 

“What can I do?” Enjolras asks.

“You’ve done enough.”

“Tell me what will make you feel better,” Enjolras rephrases, his tone just a little more commanding. 

“Hold me.”

As soon as the whispered words are out of Grantaire’s mouth, before the other man has time to be embarassed, Enjolras is wrapping his arms around Grantaire. “Thank you for telling me,” Enjolras says. “For asking.”

“Thank you for this.”

“May I kiss you?”

“You don’t have to ask, you know.”

“Yes, I do.”

Grantaire doesn’t try to argue again. “Of course.”

Enjolras presses his lips to Grantaire’s. This is only his second kiss ever, excluding a game of spin the bottle that Courfreyrac had bullied him into participating in, and he doesn’t know how good he is at it. Grantaire is certainly more experienced, but he turns his face to Grantaire like a plant seeking out the sun, like this simple warmth is something he’s never felt before. “I will always ask. I never want anything you don’t want too.”

“I just want to…” Grantaire trails off.

“Say it.”

“I want to ask you a question. Is that okay?”

“Of course.”

“You’ve never had a sub before,” Grantaire begins, a little tentatively.

“That’s true,” Enjolras says, hopefully in a somewhat encouraging way.

“And I was wondering… why not. And why you decided, me, now…”

“Those are two very separate questions.” Enjolras sits up a little, looking at Grantaire, trying to gauge his expression. “I have never been seriously interested in an individual person before you. I do feel sexual attraction, usually in passing, and my fantasies have always been very much involved with dominance and, to an extent, sadism. But my political ideals are not consistent with seeking out that kind of sex.”

“What do you mean?”

“It makes me uncomfortable, as much as it turns me on. I want it, and I hate the part of myself that could… that could enjoy that. That could crave it, as much as I do. In the abstract, it seemed a terrible thing to want. When it’s you… I don’t feel so frightened of that desire. I know I could never bring myself to hurt you, R.”

“And… why me? What is it about me?”

“You are… fascinating.” Enjolras clears his throat, trying to think of words. “You… The first time we ever spoke, all you did was criticize me. You told me how wrong I was… and you were right. You are so clever, but it’s more than that. You are… you are unapologetic about what you believe, even when what you believe is nothing at all. You are not satisfied with easy answers. And that made me want to know more about you, from the first moment we met.” He smiles. “Also, you are very attractive.”

“Not true,” Grantaire mumbles.

“I find you very attractive,” Enjolras rephrases. “So the first thing that interested me about you was your willingness to argue with me. Many people… well. I’ve been told I can be intimidating.” This is not a trait Enjolras admires in himself, that he is so capable of making others feel nervous. “I like that I don’t intimidate you. At least, that I don’t do so enough that you can’t speak freely. That you are able to confront me. And the second thing I noticed is that you are very attractive. At least to me,” he qualifies with a smile. “And then you put your trust in me, even though we hardly know each other, and… you may not understand this, but for me… that is incredible. My friends trust in my ideas, as you so obviously don’t, but… you trust me. To take care of you. And I swear, with everything I am, I will.” Enjolras hesitates. “Does that answer the question?”

Grantaire smiles to himself. “I’m glad I asked. I’d hate to miss that speech.”

Enjolras returns the smile. “And can I ask why me?”

“Because you wanted better for me than I wanted for myself. You believed in me, when I was nothing to you. You saw the good in me. And there wasn’t even any to see, that night… Enjolras, if you hadn’t been there, at the club, I might have… I might have just lain there and waited to die. I was no one. Nothing. And you looked at me and… it’s not just that you saved me. It’s that you saw someone worth saving. You would have seen that in anyone, I know it’s nothing special about me, it’s about you. You are so good. And if there is something as good as you in this world… knowing that, alone, is enough for a man to live for.”

Enjolras kisses him again, gently, tenderly, and Grantaire’s eyes fall closed, as though exhausted. Enjolras wraps him in his arms again, holding him close, and for a while there is no sound except the matched rhythm of their breathing.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> By the way, I don't think I've ever mentioned this before but I'm blameitonthepatriarchy on tumblr if anyone wants to come say hi/talk about the fic/be friends.

Grantaire quietly whispers another question. “I was wondering another thing.”

“Yes?” Enjolras answers, trying to focus on what Grantaire is saying and not the very distracting sensation of Grantaire’s warm, wet breath in his ear. 

“What—where do you see this going? You and me? I mean, what do you want from this, from me.”

“My priority is to make sure you’re safe.”

“I know,” Grantaire says, sounding a bit exasperated. “But I want to know what happens next.”

“That depends on what you want. Do you work?”

“Rarely. Not since I was with him. He didn’t want me to leave the house.”

“How long had the two of you been—“

“Two years. Before that, I was… well, I worked at a bar. He still let me do a couple of shifts every month or so. I did some freelance painting. Murals, public art, that sort of thing. I taught dance lessons, he let me do that every so often. And I box. Used to, anyway. That was the first hobby to go. Understandable, I guess. He didn’t want any bruises on me he didn’t put there himself. But I used to win some good money off that…” Grantaire trails off, blushing furiously. “Sorry. I’m going on and on. About nothing. My whole life is pretty much nothing. Yeah. I don’t do much of anything, basically. I… I dabble. I’m a full-time dabbler who took two years off from dabbling— to—I let him—“

“You’re brilliant,” Enjolras says softly.

“What?”

“You made a living off art and determination, R. Do you know how many people have that dream, and give up on it?”

“I gave up too,” Grantaire points out.

“You did not. You were taken away, from your dream, and from your life—it wasn’t your fault.”

Grantaire squeezes his eyes shut to keep from crying, again. “How can—how can you even exist?”

“Pardon?”

“You’re like a dream. You just—how can you have so much faith in me? How can you see the best in me?”

“Because it’s there,” Enjolras says, simply, quietly.

“And you, what, you make speeches, save the world—“

“I’m trying to make things better. I’m a political sciences student—not that I’m electable, my arrest record is already too long. But I don’t intend to change things from the inside, not anymore. It’s too corrupt. The whole system is broken, and there’s no way I could fix it, but I think people can be mobilized to—I’m sorry, now I’m babbling.”

“You’re fine,” Grantaire says quietly. “You are—so you’re some kind of revolutionary? Thus the speech-writing in a café in the middle of the night?”

“I also sometimes volunteer,” Enjolras mutters. “I’m not totally one-dimensional.”

“That’s awesome,” Grantaire says. “I mean, I think it’s probably at least a little bit crazy, but it’s awesome. Not the volunteering. Although that’s good and all. But you’re—I mean, no wonder you see good in me, you’re like some kind of crazy optimist—“

“I wouldn’t say crazy,” Enjolras corrects, trying to keep the sharp tone out of his voice, even though he’s rankling a little at this opposition of his deepest belief. “But, um, that’s… that’s… Not why I see the good in you. I mean, I believe, generally speaking, that people are good, and that they will do what’s right. I would help anyone who needed it, if only I could have the opportunity. However, it’s also you—you in particular—who I wanted to—to help. Who I…”

“Are you blushing?” Grantaire teases.

“Maybe,” Enjolras mutters, and Grantaire laughs a little, gently, and lets his hand rest on Enjolras’ cheek, feeling the heat of his skin as the blood rushes to the surface, coloring his pale complexion. “I really like you, Grantaire.”

“I really like you too,” Grantaire says back, mocking Enjolras’ tone… but only a little. He strokes Enjolras’ cheek. “This is okay, right? You’d tell me if I wasn’t allowed to touch you, right?”

“Of course I would,” Enjolras assures him. 

“Because he didn’t let me. I was never allowed to touch him, not unless he gave the order, and I thought that probably you wouldn’t be like that, but I thought I should ask.”

“I appreciate that,” Enjolras says. “For now, assume that affectionate physical contact is fine.”

“As opposed to sexual?”

“Yes,” Enjolras says, and there is a long silence, as Grantaire waits for elaboration. “I think,” Enjolras finally adds, tentatively, “that for both our sakes we should wait on that.”

“Okay.”

Enjolras bites his lip, covering Grantaire’s hand on his cheek with his own fingers. “Please don’t be insulted, Grantaire. I’ve never… I’ve never. I mean I kissed someone once during a drunken game of spin the bottle, and that’s it. For my own comfort, I’d prefer to take things slow from that perspective.”

“But there’s more than that.”

“Neither one of us can deny that you’ve been badly hurt by… I hesitate to call it sex, but—“

“You want to protect me,” Grantaire says quietly, but Enjolras can hear the edge in his voice, knows the next thing he says could shatter Grantaire’s fragile trust in him if he gets one word wrong.

“Yes. I do. In all ways, and from everything. Including from myself. Grantaire, the thought of hurting you with myself, with my sexuality, is… is actively disgusting to me. And I don’t think either of us can deny that you are likely to be triggered by any number of things, things that we do not yet know well enough to predict and avoid.” 

Enjolras feels as the tension floods out of Grantaire’s body, which he’d been holding taut as a bowstring. “How are you so—but—“

“But what, R?” Enjolras gently asks.

“But what else am I good for?” Grantaire asks, and his tone is just so straightforward that it shatters Enjolras’ heart.

“He really left you thinking you were nothing more than that, didn’t he,” Enjolras says, and his tone is not quite pity and not quite sympathy, somewhere in between.

“I know I’m not… I’m not good looking, but I am good at those things. I mean I always tried to be good—“ And Grantaire knows that that isn’t what Enjolras meant, he knows that his answer is stupid and irrational and he can’t help it. He can’t stop the words from leaving his mouth, can’t help himself. 

“Shh. Grantaire, shh, I’m sorry. That isn’t what I meant, you know that. And you know I am very attracted to you, I think you’re extremely good looking, but that’s not—that isn’t what’s important about a person. What’s important is… is all these things I’m finding out about you. Your art and your dancing and everything else, everything he tried to take away from you, everything I’m going to give back. And even more than that, your heart, your mind—you’re so quick, so clever, and I’m amazed by you. That’s where I see this going. I see you coming back into your own. I see you slowly but surely realizing all of the things that are amazing about yourself. I see your trust in me growing, until we can… until sex is something we can explore, down the road.”

“I’m sorry,” Grantaire says. “I didn’t mean to- I didn’t mean to make a fuss about it.”

“You have the right to ask whatever you want, you know that,” Enjolras assures him. “If there’s anything you want—sex, or touch, anything at all, you can let me know. I can’t promise it will be on the table for our relationship, but I promise we can always, always talk about it, and I will do my best to support you in that conversation, to make sure we can talk about it with as little discomfort for you as possible.”

“Thanks,” Grantaire says, and it’s so totally inadequate, it utterly fails to sum up everything he’s feeling, but it’s the only word he has.

“What was his name?” Enjolras asks.

“What?”

“Your… abuser. His name. I think it isn’t good to keep referring to him in the mysterious third person, and certainly not by a title of respect. What is his name?”

Grantaire buries his face in Enjolras’ neck, not meeting his gaze. “Will you be mad if I’m not ready to tell you?”

“Of course not,” Enjolras assures him, resting his fingers in the curls at the nape of Grantaire’s neck, petting him softly.

“Because I can’t. I really… He would get so mad at me, he would… anytime I ever even thought about it, I would slip up, I would forget… and he always beat me, and I hated that. Always made me feel so stupid. Because I knew I could do better, I knew I didn’t have to, but I always forgot, and… I can’t, I’m sorry, I can’t do it, I’m afraid. I know it’s stupid and he’s not here and he can’t get to me, can’t hurt me, but I can’t say it, I can’t—“

 

“It’s all right,” Enjolras says, patient, careful. “I’m not mad. I can wait. Til you feel safe.”

“Thank you,” Grantaire answers, and Enjolras wraps his arms securely around his boy, holding him close since that’s all he can do.


	17. Chapter 17

Enjolras’ phone rings with an unknown number—the same number Grantaire texted him from before making his escape.

Tentatively, Enjolras answers it. “Hello?”

“Who are you?” a voice demands, and Grantaire freezes in Enjolras’ arms. 

“Him?” Enjolras mouths silently. Grantaire nods. Enjolras’ arm tightens around Grantaire. “My name is Enjolras. And yours, monsieur?”

“I understand you have something that belongs to me.”

“You are mistaken,” Enjolras says, still calm. He’s negotiated with political leaders and angry mobs before. This is just one man—a monster, but still just a man, petty and stupid and cruel. 

“Did you receive a text from this number recently?”

“Yes.”

“And did he get there?”

“I don’t believe that’s any of your business.”

“Is he with you now?”

“Again, I don’t see how that affects you.”

“Let me talk to him,” the man says, an odd plaintiveness in his voice. “Please.”

“Absolutely not,” Enjolras replies. 

“I see you’re keeping him on a tighter leash. Smart, that. I didn’t realize how much spunk the little slut still had in him.”

Enjolras growls—actually, literally growls, like an angry cat. It’s kind of adorable. Grantaire has to stifle a laugh against his shoulder. “Grantaire, would you like to speak to him? Because you certainly may, if you want to. You can do anything you want, as you know.”

“No thanks,” Grantaire replies, still smiling.

“You have your answer,” Enjolras says.

“So he is with you.”

“Yes. And with me he is staying, until he chooses otherwise.”

“Tell him I want him to come home. I’m sorry things went so far. I make mistakes, everyone does. I’m not perfect and neither is he, but we understand each other.”

“If you darken my doorstep, I’ll kill you,” Enjolras says, and then Grantaire’s smile is gone, because he’s absolutely, completely serious. “If you track me down with the intention of hurting him or forcing him to go anywhere he doesn’t want to go with you, or of so much as frightening him, I will murder you with my bare hands. Do you understand that, or should I rephrase in smaller words?”

“Th-that’s clear,” he stammers.

“Good. Now, you presumably know I was at the club that night. I’ve seen what you did to him, and I have more than enough grounds to go to the police and have you arrested for assault and rape.” Grantaire tenses again. “I would prefer not to put Grantaire through that trauma if that isn’t what he wants. However, if you come here, if you contact me or Grantaire again, or any of our friends, or if my friends and I—and we are numerous, and very well organized—see you trying to do to any other human being what you did to Grantaire, at that club or any other, you will find yourself in prison before you can blink. And if you threaten Grantaire, if you try to hurt him ever again, your precious friends will each find a piece of your body.”

“I had a right to punish him,” he says.

“Actually, even consensual sadomasochism can be tried as assault in some jurisdictions, and the most incompetant lawyer in the world—a term that does not describe my own, I assure you—could prove that Grantaire was not a consenting party. So legally speaking, you had no right. Morally, of course, you’re the scum of the earth.”

“He loves me.”

“You don’t deserve it,” Enjolras says.

“Why are you doing this?”

“Because he needs my help. Because he deserves better than you. Because I want to.”

“Did you fuck him? That night?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but no.” Enjolras runs his fingers through Grantaire’s hair, trying to soothe him. “He deserves better. He deserves to have time and care taken. And he certainly deserves a lot better than you.”

“I won’t hurt him if he comes home,” he says.

“Is that a threat? Because it sounds like one.”

“No, I mean… I mean if he wants to come back, I wouldn’t punish him for leaving.”

“Oh, wow,” Enjolras says. “Big of you.”

“He does want to be with me. Or he did. He’s mine.”

“Not anymore. And he never will be again.”

“Okay,” he says, resigned. “Okay. Can you just tell him? Please? That I’m sorry. I went too far. I thought he’d let you… let you touch him. That night.”

“I did. I held him and stroked his hair and took care of him. Like you should have, like you didn’t.”

“You’re right,” he says, voice shaking. “You’re right, I should’ve. I should’ve been better to him. But I wasn’t and he’s gone. He’s the best part of my life. You wouldn’t understand.”

“I do,” Enjolras says quietly. “And I have no sympathy for you. You may have been able to manipulate him with this act, but it’s a classic abuser’s trick… and you may be missing the fact that I literally do not care if you expire from hearbreak at having lost him. You hurt him and he’s safe now, safe from you or anything else, and that is the only thing I care about.”

“You have to tell him.” 

“No, I don’t.”

“Tell him that I do care. That I’m sorry. And that I’d do anything, anything at all, to earn him back.”

The line goes dead.

Enjolras stares at the phone for a few seconds before turning back to Grantaire. Immediately, he feels terrible. Grantaire is trembling badly, his face drawn and the color drained from his cheeks. 

“I-is he coming?’ Grantaire whispers.

“No, sweetheart. He’s not going to find you.”

“He wants me back.”

“Yes, but he won’t get you.” Enjolras strokes Grantaire’s hair soothingly. “You’re with me and you’re safe.”

“Promise?”

“I swear.”

“I’m sorry you had to deal with that. It was his friend’s phone, I couldn’t figure out how to clear the sent messages folder, I just ran—“

“You did so well. The most important thing was getting yourself to me. We’ll deal with the consequences as they arise. When you feel comfortable giving me his name, we’ll go and get a restraining order.”

“Laurent Dubois,” Grantaire mutters. “That’s his name.” He freezes up, a chill running through him. 

“Good,” Enjolras says. “I know it’s hard. I’m proud of you.”

“It’s stupid, I know that, but there’s a part of me, a part of me that’s still so scared he’s going to find me and punish me for saying it because I’m not allowed—“

“You are now. You’re allowed to say whatever you want, to call him or me or anyone whatever you’d like. Because you’re free.”

“No,” Grantaire says, and before Enjolras can panic, adds, tentatively, “I’m yours.”

Enjolras’ heart feels as if it’s swelling in his chest. “If you want to be,” he says, quietly. “If that’s what you want, my R.”


	18. Chapter 18

After that, their lives fall into a comfortable rhythm. They share a bed at night—it’s the only thing that helps keep Grantaire’s nightmares away.

Grantaire doesn’t want to talk about what he dreams about. “Darkness,” he says, mostly. “Your fingers slipping out of mine, slowly, like you’re falling away from me. Not—it’s not actually about what, y’know, happened.”

But it doesn’t make the nights when he wakes up screaming, not just making noise but a real, shrieking, blood-curdling scream, any less awful. Three nights in, he panics, trying to push Enjolras away, and punches the blond in the face, right on his nose. Grantaire is strong, and he used to box, and it hurts quite a bit. Still, Enjolras is able to calm him down quickly.

The ensuing panic attack, when he realizes he’s actually punched Enjolras, is worse than the nightmare was. Enjolras ends up having to order Grantaire around, something he tries to avoid. “Deep breaths. Good boy. No, quiet. There you go.”

Eventually, he gets Grantaire calmed down, but the next night they’re both sleepless and anxious, worried it will happen again. 

Two days later, Enjolras goes back to work. He leaves Grantaire with extremely strict instructions to call if he needs so much as one single thing, a stack of books he’s interested in, and a set of beautiful paints. He swings by at lunch, just to make sure Grantaire is doing all right, instead of eating at his desk as he usually does.

Their days fall into a rhythm. Enjolras wakes up early and goes to work- Grantaire is usually asleep, curled up in his bed, when he leaves. It’s a pleasant way to start the day, watching Grantaire’s peaceful face shift a little, his arms readjust to the lack of Enjolras. By the time Grantaire wakes up, Enjolras is more or less on his way home for lunch. He ends up eating a lot of lunchtime omelettes, since according to Grantaire it is heresy to eat anything but breakfast foods at breakfast time, even if breakfast time is noon for Grantaire and it’s Enjolras’ lunch.

Grantaire spends the afternoon painting, mostly, sometimes reading, sometimes dicking around on Enjolras’ laptop. He starts going for jogs, too, just around Enjolras’ safe, brightly-lit neighborhood. He always calls Enjolras before he leaves—not quite asking permission, but wanting someone to know where he is—and when he gets back. They have dinner together—Grantaire cooks, or they go out—and then watch a movie or read for a bit before falling asleep in each other’s arms.

It’s oddly domestic, for two people who are still near-strangers, and who have never done more than chastely kiss. 

The paperwork for the restraining order comes back about two weeks later. There’s a form letter on top of it that reminds them that it’s a preventative safety measure, giving a number to call if Laurent is seen on the premises of their home or following Grantaire.

Grantaire holds the paper in trembling hands. He stares down at it for long minutes and then smiles up at Enjolras. It feels like freedom.

“Thank you. I never would have—would have even thought to do this, y’know?”

Enjolras hums and kisses him. “There’s another letter here for you. I didn’t want to open it.”

Grantaire takes it from him, and then grins.

“What? Can I ask?”

“I, uh, while you were out with the Amis the other day I may or may not have used your laptop to open up an online store?”

“And?”

“Someone wants to commission me to paint a mural?”

“That’s amazing, R!”

“Yeah,” Grantaire says, holding out the piece of paper. “It really is. Like I have no idea how or why this happened to me, but you know, I’ll take it, or whatever.”

“I’m proud of you for putting yourself out there. It must have been hard.”

“Not as hard as living off your charity,” he mumbles.

“I don’t think of it that way.”

“Well, when I was living with L-Laurent, he made it pretty clear that I wasn’t expected to pay rent because he was taking the difference out on my ass. So.”

“I’m not going to do that to you.”

“But we’ll both be more comfortable with a sexual relationship of consensual power exchange if there’s as few differences in how much actual power we actually have,” Grantaire points out.

“That’s fair.”

“So if I’m making money—and they’ve offered me a couple thousand bucks for this, I guess that, um, some of my stuff got popular while I was living with him, and that some people are excited I’m working again? Which is amazing, weird but amazing, and I’m going to give you some of it to cover rent and buy groceries or whatever, and then maybe I’ll keep getting work, and I can… y’know, have some stuff in my life that isn’t just being…” Suddenly, Grantaire looks uncertain. “I mean. I like it here. I like you. But I, I need to be more than…”

“Grantaire, I’m thrilled for you. I wish you’d save the money, I don’t need it, but I’ll take it if that makes you feel better. And I’m so happy you’re finding work, and I hope you like it, but if that doesn’t work out, I’ll help you find something else if you want to.”

“Oh.”

“Please never, never think that what I want is to limit or restrict you in any way, R. I want to help you succeed in whatever you want.”

“Thank you,” Grantaire says, inadequately, and Enjolras takes his hand and kisses his knuckles.

“Now, R, I have two things I want to discuss with you.”

“Yeah?”

“First- I want you to meet my friends. They’d like you, I think.”

Grantaire blushes and looks down.

“Is something wrong, R?”

“I just, um, I assumed that you…”

“What?”

“That the reason I hadn’t met them is ‘cause, you know, you didn’t want me to, or whatever,” Grantaire explains, clearly trying to make it sound matter-of-fact.

“I apologize if I gave you that impression. I was- they’re a large group, of boisterous young men, and they’re… they are very friendly, and—“

“You were worried I might get triggered.” 

“Yes,” Enjolras confesses.

“Thank you for looking out for me.”

“You aren’t mad? That I made a decision like that for you?”

Grantaire smiles. “Uh, that’s kind of my thing, honey. Having decisions made for me? Submissive? I don’t know if you’re familiar-“

Enjolras laughs. “All right. So you’d like to meet them all?”

“Absolutely,” Grantaire assures him.

“And the other thing. I, um, was wondering… if you’d like to do a little bit more than kissing? Maybe a light scene? No sex, oral or otherwise, just, um… and there’s absolutely zero pressure, you know that, right?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“I was thinking, if you want, I could tie you up while we make out. Just, um, just that. If you’re comfortable.”

“Yes,” Grantaire agrees readily. “I’d love that.”

“You’re sure?”

“Completely, one hundred percent sure.”

“Good boy.” Enjolras leans in to press a gentle kiss to his lips. “Take your clothes off and get your ass into our bed.”


	19. Chapter 19

Enjolras follows him a few seconds later. Grantaire is kneeling and naked on the bed. “Good boy,” Enjolras praises, leaning in for a kiss, “but for now I want you to sit beside me. We need to negotiate, just a little bit. We’ll do a fuller negotiation later, but I will not do this with you until we’ve discussed what you want… and what you don’t.”

“Okay.” Grantaire scoots forward, sitting next to Enjolras on the edge of the bed. 

“First of all, it is important to me that you don’t call me sir. You may address me by my name, or—would you prefer to use a title?”

“If… if you don’t mind.”

“I would like if you called me ‘Master,’” Enjolras admits, somewhat tentatively. “Only in-scene, and you won’t be punished for using my name. Is that all right?”

“Yes,” Grantaire says with a smile. “I’d… I’d like that very much.”

“Normally I’ll want to be able to surprise you with what I have planned, but today I need to be sure you’re on board with what’s happening. My plan is to tie your wrists to the headboard and do as I like with you. I plan to kiss you, to bite your lips and neck, and perhaps your nipples and chest as well. I will probably pull your hair, and if you are amenable I would like your permission to slap you.”

“Enthusiastically given,” Grantaire butts in.

“Anything in there sound like it violates a limit, or just isn’t something you’d actively enjoy?”

“Not in the least.”

“Good. Because I don’t plan on allowing you release—sexual or from your bonds—until you beg me very thoroughly.”

Grantaire bites his lip, and at first Enjolras thinks he’s gone too far in phrasing that as a statement, in not adding on that of course he’ll stop if Grantaire asks—but then Enjolras realizes he’s trying to stifle a moan.

“What’s your safeword, Grantaire?”

“Never used one before. Is red okay?”

“That’s fine,” Enjolras says. He probably shouldn’t be surprised at the fact that Grantaire never had a safeword with his abuser, but it still hurts him deeply. “If you use it, we will stop everything, I will untie you, and we’ll talk when you’re ready to. If you want me to slow down or stop, or if I do anything you don’t like, I want you to tell me. Just say so. If you say no or stop, I promise I will stop to listen to what you have to say, and we can continue with the scene if you want, unless you use the safeword. Is that clear?”

“Yes.”

“And if you call me sir, I will stop. That’s a personal decision that is not up for negotiation.”

“Understood.”

“Is there anything in there that you are uncomfortable with, or anything you’d like to do that I haven’t mentioned?”

“Am… um, am I going to be allowed to come?”

“Yes, whenever you’d like.”

“And are- are you going to let me get you off? Because that’s so important, you might not understand because it’s definitely a sub thing but I really need to because if I haven’t that means I haven’t done well and that’s- that’s not-“

“Okay. You don’t have to explain it to me, Grantaire. If it is important to you, I will work that into the scene. It wasn’t in my plan, in fact—I know you have been… in the past, it hasn’t been at all about what you want, and I thought to demonstrate that’s not how I want things to be. But if it is important to you to please me, I will certainly allow it.”

“H-how?” Grantaire asks, and Enjolras can see the naked want written all over his face.

“I will rub against your body until I come, and I’ll mark you when I do,” Enjolras says, phrasing it as a statement but pausing afterwards to judge Grantaire’s reaction.

“Please-“

“Good boy,” Enjolras says again, leaning in to kiss his forehead. “Promise me you’ll stop me if you need to?”

“Of course.”

“Thank you,” Enjolras says, and pushes Grantaire onto his back, climbing on top of him to straddle his hips. Almost at once, Grantaire goes slack, the tension sliding out of his body. Enjolras grabs his wrists, pinning them together. “Stay.”

“Yes, Master,” Grantaire says, his voice so soft and submissive. Enjolras groans at that and leans back to grab the scarf he’d hidden for this very purpose in the bedside drawer. He neatly ties Grantaire’s wrists together and loops the end of the scarf to one of the slats in the headboard.

“Secure?”

“Yes, Master.”

Enjolras growls and leans in to bite at Grantaire’s mouth. The boy’s lips open for him, so soft and yielding, and Grantaire arches up against him, then tries to settle.

“S-sorry.”

Enjolras bites his neck sharply. “I don’t want you holding back on me. Believe me, I want you to show your pleasure.”

Grantaire doesn’t know what to say to that, exactly, so he rolls his hips up against Enjolras.

Enjolras sucks at the bite mark on his neck, then slowly drags his teeth over the blossoming bruise. Grantaire tries to turn his head and Enjolras tangles a hand in his hair, forcing his head to the side and holding him down. He keeps tormenting Grantaire with his teeth and mouth, working his way up from his collarbone to his ear. When he gently sucks Grantaire’s ear into his mouth, Grantaire lets out a moan so drawn-out it almost sounds like a sob. “All right?”

“Yes, Master, yes-“

“Talk to me, R. Tell me what you want.”

“Please, I want your mouth on me, marking me, showing me I’m yours, please please don’t stop, please-“

“Oh, good boy,” Enjolras murmurs into his ear. “Such a good boy.” He bites the shell of Grantaire’s ear.

“Please, Master, do whatever you want to me, I’m yours-“

Enjolras growls and pulls Grantaire’s head up, towards his mouth. He claims his lips in a savage kiss, tongue delving deeply, possessively. “Yes. You are mine,” he says, loud and clear, when he’s pulled away.

Grantaire is already gasping shallowly, his eyes going dazed with want. Enjolras curls his fingers around his throat, not squeezing at all, not cutting off his air, just letting him feel the weight. Grantaire sighs and relaxes into the hold, and Enjolras backhands him across the face.

Grantaire moans, and Enjolras gently caresses the mark blooming on his cheek. “Such a perfect boy.”

“Please, Master, please hit me again,” Grantaire pleads, and Enjolras sits back on his heels, looking down at him for a second. As Grantaire feels his warmth move away, he almost sobs with need. “No, please, I’ll be good, please hit me, please don’t stop, please-“

His desperation is the hottest thing Enjolras can imagine. He wants it, wants to watch it forever, and at the same time wants to soothe and care for the boy who is submitting so utterly to him.

So he hits Grantaire hard across the face, and then slaps his chest sharply five times on each side. Grantaire is still gasping at the blows when Enjolras pinches his nipples hard, tugging slightly at them as he leans down to claim Grantaire’s mouth in another kiss. “Who owns you?” Enjolras demands

“You do, Master,” Grantaire answers, and his voice is so utterly peaceful and contented, happy as Enjolras has never heard him before.

“Good boy.” 

“Master?”

“Yes?”

“Will you touch my cock, please? I’m so hard, it hurts, I need-“

“Shh.” Enjolras had thought he’d let Grantaire beg a while longer, but now he finds that the last thing he wants is for Grantaire to suffer. He wants to make Grantaire his, make Grantaire happy. He undoes his own pants, kicking them aside, and then thrusts down deliberately, a slow press of his naked cock against Grantaire’s.

Grantaire sobs as Enjolras slowly, slowly thrusts against him, his lips on Grantaire’s, his tongue delving into every corner of his mouth. Enjolras sucks on Grantaire’s tongue, a wordless, filthy promise of all the dirty things he’s going to do to him later, one day, soon. He kisses Grantaire until they’re both dizzy, and when he pulls away he bites Grantaire’s neck hard enough that Grantaire cries out his name.

“Please, harder, I need it, I need you, please-“

And it’s so intimate and so intense, just pressing their bodies together, closer and closer to orgasm and to each other with every thrust. “You’re mine,” Enjolras says, with a hiss into Grantaire’s ear. “Say it.”

“I’m yours, Master.”

“I own you and you’ll do whatever I want. You’re here for my pleasure, sweetheart, and I’m going to use you just the way I want to.”

Grantaire moans at that, a long, drawn-out sound that carries into his pleading, “Yes, please, please, whatever you want, Enjolras, I’m yours and all I want, all I want is to please you, to be good-“

“You are,” Enjolras promises, panting harshly himself now. “You’re so good, you’re perfect- are you close, I want to watch you come for me-“

“Yes, Master, that’s- I want that, please-“

Enjolras wriggles a hand between their bodies, stroking both of their cocks quickly and firmly.

“That’s right, my pet, my boy, you’re going to come for me, and you’re going to make me come, how sweet and hot and wonderful you are, I’m going to come all over you and mark you as mine because that’s what you are-“

And it probably isn’t making much sense but Grantaire is gasping and meeting Enjolras’ thrusts with strokes of his hips and moaning as Enjolras bites his lips and Enjolras comes, marking Grantaire with long streaks of come just as he promised, and as Grantaire feels that he throws his head back and Enjolras strokes his dick harder and faster and then Grantaire is crying out his name and coming as well.


	20. Chapter 20

For a few moments they remain there, panting, trying to catch their breath. Enjolras presses soft kisses to Grantaire’s swollen lips as they shudder with the aftershocks of their shared orgasm. When he’s finished, Enjolras quickly unties the knots around Grantaire’s wrists.

“All right?” Enjolras asks.

“Wonderful,” Grantaire mumbles with a sweet, sleepy smile. Enjolras massages his wrists carefully.

“Any pain? Tingling?”

“No, Master.”

“Scene is over. You don’t have to—“

“C-can I? Just til I come up a little?”

Enjolras kisses his forehead. “Of course. I want to talk about the scene—nothing bad, I promise, I just want to make sure you’re okay with everything, want to make sure this never stops being a good thing for you—but first you take your time coming back to yourself. Anything I can do for you right now?”

“I’m fine.”

“Can I stay here and hold you, or would you prefer to be on your own?”

“You’ll stay?”

“Yes.” Enjolras pulls Grantaire into his arms, letting the other man’s head rest on his chest, stroking his hair. He doesn’t say anything for a while. Grantaire is still breathing quite hard, and he’s positively clinging to Enjolras. “Good boy,” Enjolras says eventually. “You did so well.”

Grantaire whimpers and turns his head so his face is buried in Enjolras’ chest. 

Enjolras hadn’t intended the scene to take Grantaire this far down. He’d thought it would be easy enough, that compared to everything Grantaire has been through, this scene would be simple. Clearly, he had underestimated the effect kindness has on Grantaire. 

He doesn’t mind, though. Actually, it’s kind of nice, having Grantaire here clinging to him like this, warm and sweet and trusting.

“Are you sure you’re okay, R?”

“Yeah,” Grantaire mumbles against Enjolras’ chest. “’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Grantaire murmurs something incoherent and presses a tentative kiss to the underside of Enjolras’ jaw before tucking his face back into Enjolras’ neck. Enjolras rubs his back gently, soothing little circles. Grantaire hums happily.

“Sweet boy. Can you talk to me?”

“Whatever you want, Master.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Cold.”

Enjolras laughs, getting the comforter from the bottom of the bed and tugging it up around both of their bodies. He’d planned to start discussing the scene, but it’s obvious from Grantaire’s answer that he’s still not back to himself, so he just lets Grantaire settle under the comforter and holds him tight. Grantaire wraps his arms around Enjolras’ neck, clinging to him, and Enjolras waits patiently for Grantaire to settle.

It takes a while—maybe fifteen minutes—before Grantaire takes a deep breath and says, “’kay. I’m good.”

“Yeah?”

“You can let go of me now, if you want to. Not that I’m objecting.”

“Whatever you want.”

“Well. I’d like you to stay,” Grantaire admits. “This is really nice.”

“I’m glad. Feeling better?”

“I didn’t feel… I mean, it was always, I was always—fine. But. I feel more normal now.”

“That’s good.”

“I’m sorry I was so… I don’t know what happened. I don’t usually get… like that.”

“Any idea why it happened?”

“I don’t know. I think… I think it was because I trust you. I mean I knew you’d take care of me. And you did. Sorry, it’s weird.”

“It’s not weird,” Enjolras assures him. “I mean, I… I remember that night, in the club, you were… you wanted this, this comfort. You accepted it from me. I remember how grateful I was, that you let me.”

“You were? I thought… I mean, I assumed it was weird.”

“Not at all,” Enjolras says. “I wish you had let me stay, of course, but I understand… I understand why you wouldn’t. I mean, I would have liked to not leave you at all, you were so… but you needed time and I understand.”

“This is why I went so deep,” Grantaire says. “Because you’re so wonderful. You care so much. You’d never take advantage of it, you’d never hurt me.”

“Never,” Enjolras assures him fiercely. “Never, never, I promise-“

“I know,” Grantaire laughs quietly, stealing a quick kiss from Enjolras’ lips. “Believe me, Enjolras, if I thought you would, we wouldn’t have done this. I trust you.”

“Thank you.” He squeezes Grantaire’s hand. “Can we talk about a few things that happened?”

“Of course.”

“The bondage was okay?”

“I liked it. Did you?”

“Yeah. I might want to invest in cuffs or something—I’d like to be able to tie you tighter without worrying that I’m going to cut off your circulation.”

“I suspect you worry too much.”

“Impossible,” Enjolras says. Grantaire laughs. “No, really, it would be impossible for me to worry too much, to put too much care into this when you are trusting me with your safety, with your self.”

Enjolras looks at Grantaire, worried he’s let too much feeling show through, but Grantaire’s eyes are wide, and he’s smiling.

“Was it all right that I put my hand on your throat? I’m sorry I didn’t talk about it before I did it—“

“It was nice. Very—possessive. Hot.”

“How would you feel about a little bit of choking, next time?”

“Good. I’d feel good about that.” Grantaire blushes a little. “I really like that you hit me. Um. Obviously, since I consented and all. But. It felt good.”

“I’m glad. Do you wish I’d drawn things out longer?”

“No. It was good.”

“Because I liked hearing you beg, but I also… I want this to be good for you. To never be anything but good for you.”

“It was. Very good. I’m glad you liked the begging, it just, uh, sort of happened. I was worried it was weird.”

“It’s not,” Enjolras assures him. “Or if it is, I like it. I like it a lot.”

“Good.”

“Anything else? Comments, concerns?”

Grantaire laughs. “Comment: you are the greatest. Also, you’re comfy.” He cuddles back against Enjolras.

“What would you like to try next time?”

Enjolras feels Grantaire blush, the heat rising in his cheeks. “I’d really like to suck you off. Make you feel good.”

“I’d like that, too. I’ve never- but I’d like you to be the first.”

“And maybe you could, y’know, pull my hair and slap me around a little, during. I wouldn’t mind. If you want.”

“I want that,” Enjolras says. “You don’t have to be embarassed, Grantaire. I want you. If I’m reluctant, it’s because I’m reluctant to hurt you, or just because I’m inexperienced. But I always want you.”

“Thank you.” Grantaire lets his eyes fall closed. “I’m gonna doze for a bit, okay? Wake me when it’s time for your meeting thing.”

“I will. Promise.”

“Don’t move. Need my pillow.”

Enjolras laughs. “All right, sweet boy.”


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire meets the Amis.

“Grantaire?”

“Mmm?”

“It’s time for the meeting. Do you want to come with me?”

“Hmm.”

Enjolras laughs, pressing a kiss to the side of Grantaire’s face. “You need to get up if you’d like to come along.”

“Mmkay.”

“You don’t have to, of course.”

“sss’okay.” 

Enjolras moves to disentangle himself from Grantaire, whose arms lock tight around him. “No. Stay?”

“Sweetheart, I do have to go.”

“Kay,” Grantaire mumbles, slowly getting up to sitting. 

“I’ll go get you a cup of tea and you can have it in bed while I get my notes together.”

“Really?”

“Of course.”

“Thank you. You’re so good to me.”

“You deserve it. The scene was wonderful, and it’s my pleasure to take care of you now.” Enjolras kisses his forehead and goes into the kitchen, returning in a moment with a cup of tea and a cookie. Grantaire nibbles at his food while Enjolras disappears into the other room, humming off-tune while he gathers up his notes.

Grantaire can’t keep from smiling. He hadn’t expected things to change after submitting to Enjolras… not really, anyway. But he’d suspected that Enjolras might not be able to help looking at him just a bit differently after having seen him beg to be hurt. Enjolras clearly had something Sir never had for Grantaire—a certain respect, and though Grantaire was willing to sacrifice that for intimacy, he’s surprised as well as pleased that it seems he doesn’t have to.

“You look happy,” Enjolras comments when he returns.

“I am. You make me happy.”

Enjolras smiles brilliantly at him, and it feels—it feels like such an incredible reward, such a gift. “Me too. I mean, you make me happy. So happy, Grantaire. You don’t even know, how lucky I am—I know myself to be—to have you.”

“That’s not true,” Grantaire insists. “I’m nothing special.”

“Nonsense. You are so special. You’re amazing.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re wonderful, and generous, and giving, and brave, and talented. You are so many htings I need, and I’m very lucky to have you.”

Grantaire can’t help but smile at that, despite the creeping feeling in his stomach that he’s not good enough.

“We should go?” Grantaire asks.

“Yes, or we’ll be late.”

Enjolras takes his hand as they head out to the street. The café where this meeting is to be held is within walking distance. 

“A few things,” Enjolras says, “before we get there.”

“Okay.”

“There’s—if you get overwhelmed, if you want to leave, you have to tell me.”

“I will.”

“And—I know we haven’t talked about it. My friends don’t know about the D/s thing, except for Combeferre, and Courfeyrac who has probably guessed. I’d prefer if they didn’t find out until we’re ready to make the choice to tell them.”

“Of course I won’t tell them.”

“We’ll be talking about sexual health today. It shouldn’t be triggering, but I just wanted to let you know.”

“All right.”

“The meetings generally last around an hour of actual meeting, and then after that we’ll probably just socialize for a bit. We can go at any point, but especially after the meeting is over.”

“I don’t mind. Seriously, Enjolras, I’m not that fragile. If I wanted to go, I could walk home on my own, all right?”

“I’m sorry. I’m not trying to patronize. I just want you to feel safe, especially because of what we did this morning.”

Grantaire smiles at him. “I understand. I’m not offended. I just want you to know that I’m not here to be some kind of awful burden on you. I can take a little responsbility for myself.”

“I never thought—“

“I know.” 

And then they’re headed up the stairs to the Café Musain. Enjolras tangles his fingers tightly with Grantaire’s. “One more question?”

Grantaire nods.

“Is it okay if I introduce you as my boyfriend?”

Grantaire blushes. “Yes. Of course. I’d like that. If I were-“

“If you want to be.”

“Yes. I do.” 

Grantaire leans over and kisses him, and then they walk in together. Unlike Enjolras’ usual, they’re a little late, so everyone is already gathered around, sitting and chatting. Grantaire gives Combeferre a tentative smile, and the sandy-haired man, the only person he recognizes, smiles back.

“Grantaire! So nice to have you join us. This is my partner, Courfeyrac.”

A handsome, short Asian man with cropped black hair and golden skin reaches for Grantaire’s hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“You too. Just Courfeyrac?”

“Yeah. We usually do last names here.”

“Cool. I go by mine too. Grantaire, or R.”

Enjolras introduces him to a ginger man with a firm, calloused handshake and sparkling eyes. “This is Feuilly. He works with homeless queer and trans youth—“

“Used to be one of them,” Feuilly says with a smile. “It’s nice to meet you, R.”

“You too.”

“Feuilly is an incredible inspiration to our cause. We’re so lucky to have him with us—“

“Yes, yes, everyone knows about your crush on Feuilly, Enjolras,” a tall, muscular, dark-skinned man interrupts. “I’m Bahorel. Resident trouble-maker.”

“Nice to meet you,” Grantaire says.

“This is my girlfriend, Jehan.”

A tall, thin girl with long blonde hair peeks out from behind Bahorel. She’s wearing a pink dress with sparkles down the front and bright green skinny jeans, and smiling shyly at Grantaire. 

Grantaire can’t help but smile back, despite the fact that he is feeling a little bit overwhelmed. “I’m Grantaire. Enjolras’ boyfriend.” It’s the first time he’s said that. He’s Enjolras’ boyfriend. It’s wonderful enough to distract him from the share volume of people who are basically queued up to introduce themselves to him. 

“Charmed,” Jehan says. She fidgets a little, clearly shy, and Grantaire feels a warmth towards her, because he too is nervous around crowds of people. He tends to get drunk and loudly proclaim his opinions rather than blushing, but it’s the same essential emotion.

Enjolras loops an arm around Grantaire’s waist.

“This is Marius, Courfeyrac’s roommate. Marius, this is my boyfriend, Grantaire.”

“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Marius says stiffly, extending his hand for a rather awkward handshake. 

“I’m Joly. This is Bossuet. And Musichetta, our girlfriend.” The person speaking is a short, chubby guy with thick glasses. Bossuet is tall and bald, with bright blue eyes, skinny in a way that makes it seem like he doesn’t quite know where his limbs are all the time. Standing between them is a strikingly pretty woman, curvy with pale skin and long, wavy black hair.

Grantaire shakes all their hands, too, and then meets Éponine, a slender, quiet woman who’s standing by herself in the corner, watching them all, especially Marius. She smiles at Grantaire, though, showing a gap where her two front teeth should be, the rest of her smile gleaming against her dark skin. “So you’ve broken Enjolras out of his shell.”

“I- yes?” Grantaire says. “I guess.”

Enjolras leans in, kissing his cheek, then suggests, “Now that you’ve met everybody, why don’t we get started?”

Grantaire nods, taking a seat next to Éponine. Everyone else settles around, and Enjolras begins to speak. 

Grantaire looks down at his hands. There are so many of them. Enjolras’ beautiful friends, with their wide smiles and their kind words, listening as Enjolras speaks about some tiny aspect of sex ed in Paris schools. They’re all so lovely and so kind and he doesn’t belong here. He doesn’t belong with these clever, attractive people. He’s a fucking blot on their little society. 

He wants to tell Enjolras that he can feel his thoughts spiralling, that he needs his attention or help or something, but he can’t. Enjolras is clearly busy, needs to work on this. He doesn’t need Grantaire bothering him, doesn’t need to be dragged down by a stupid, needy sub.

That’s Sir’s voice he’s hearing in his head, and he knows it. He takes a slow, deep breath and looks around, trying to focus in on the moment, trying to stay grounded.

Finally, he makes eye contact with Enjolras. Enjolras is standing on a table, his posture upright, his blue eyes blazing with passion as he talks about how queer youth are erased in sex ed, and he looks at Grantaire.

Grantaire freezes. He doesn’t want Enjolras to have to interrupt his speech. He doesn’t want to have to stand between Enjolras and what he loves—

“And that is why,” Enjolras says, looking right at Grantaire, “it is a radical act for us to love each other. For us, as queer people, to explore our sexuality and our pleasure together. For us to form friendships and intimacies that sustain us. For us to discover and accept ourselves. Love is the most powerful thing we have. Love is the change that we need, the principle that we need to learn ourselves and teach to our young people. Thank you.”

The others clap, and Grantaire smiles. It’s not just the words that are a gesture that touches him to his heart… it’s also the fact that Enjolras found a way, a perfect way, to ground Grantaire and help him with his panic, reassure him, without embarassing him. And he did it without seeming to mind at all.

As the group breaks into chatter, Grantaire finds his way to Enjolras’ side, and he’s never felt more like he belonged anywhere.


	22. Chapter 22

Enjolras finds him as soon as he’s done speaking, expecting to take Grantaire home, but Grantaire has already engaged Feuilly in a conversation about painting techniques and then he’s joking with Joly and Bossuet about something.

Eventually Enjolras ends up in a corner with Combeferre and Courfeyrac, a position that’s quite familiar and comfortable for him.

“How are you doing, Enjolras?” Courfeyrac says gently.

“I’m well, my friend. Thank you.”

“You look it. I hadn’t expected, given everything—“

“Are you referring to my relationship with Grantaire?”

“I told him,” Combeferre says. “I hope you didn’t expect me to keep my misgivings a secret-“

“I would never ask you to keep a secret from Courfeyrac, don’t worry.”

“Good, because despite my many virtues, you know I can’t keep a secret.” 

Enjolras smiles. “I do know that. Don’t worry.”

“We’re concerned,” Combeferre says. “We just want to make sure you aren’t the only thing in Grantaire’s life. That wouldn’t be good for either of you.”

“No, it wouldn’t,” Enjolras agrees. “He’s started working again, and he seems to be getting along well with the rest of the Amis. I think he’ll be all right.”

“And you, Enjolras?”

Enjolras shrugs. “I have my work. I have you. Now I have him as well. If anything, I am better balanced then I was before. He reminds me to eat and sleep, which you know I tend to forget, and his company is most pleasant, that is to say—I have quite enjoyed—“ Enjolras blushes, and Courfeyrac grins.

“Oh my god, you have a crush.”

“I—it’s not a crush, if we’re together, is it?”

“It is if you blush whenever someone so much as mentions his name.”

Enjolras’ hands fly to cover his cheeks, which do indeed feel quite warm. “Am I really-“

“You’re as red as a boiled lobster, darling,” Grantaire says, grinning as he walks over to the three of them. He circles Enjolras’ waist with his arm and leans in to kiss his flushed cheek. “Hello.”

“Hi.”

“What were you talking about that has Enjolras all flustered?”

“You,” Combeferre says, grinning. “Not even anything personal. You just came up as a subject of discussion, and now poor Enjolras can barely contain himself.”

“Really?” Grantaire teases.

“Shut up, I just like you a lot,” Enjolras says, and Grantaire laughs and kisses him. 

“Ready to head home?” Combeferre asks Courfeyrac, and the two of them wave goodbye and leave.

The rest of the Amis have trickled out, leaving Enjolras and Grantaire more or less alone, except for Éponine who’s already pulled out some textbooks and started on her schoolwork. Enjolras leans into Grantaire’s grip on his waist. 

“You really are wonderful,” Enjolras says with a smile. 

“I’m pretty sure that’s you. Look how precious you are when you blush.”

“Shut up.” 

“Make me.”

Enjolras kisses him hard, swallowing Grantaire’s little moan. He thrusts his tongue into Grantaire’s mouth, claiming him. His hands are firm around Grantaire’s waist and by the time he pulls away, Grantaire’s eyes are wide and dazed. 

Enjolras smiles, immensely pleased with himself, and drops another, softer kiss to Grantaire’s lips.

“Let’s go home, darling.”

Grantaire laces his fingers with Enjolras’, but lets the other man lead the way. 

When they get home, Enjolras offers to cook, but Grantaire laughs him off. “You know you burn water,” he points out.

“I have many talents,” Enjolras huffs.

“Yes, but the culinary arts escape you.”

Enjolras’ voice softens. “We can order in. You know you don’t have to—“

“I know. I like cooking.” Grantaire starts mincing garlic as he explains. “S- Laurent did make me do an awful lot of service, and I really hated it. Some of it. I mean, the idea of service submission is appealing, but what’s appealing about it is mostly the like praise and reward part, not so much the actual scrubbing of floors or whatever. But cooking, although it was something I did for him because he ordered me to, is also something I enjoy and find rewarding, and it’s something I like sharing with my boyfriend, not something I’m doing because I feel obligated to serve my dom, although that could theoretically be fun too.”

“Good,” Enjolras says. “But I also want to make sure you’re not wearing yourself out—“

“We don’t have to order in all the time. Save your money, donate it to a stupid charity or something. I’m making risotto.”

“Isn’t that hard? It seems like that would be hard.”

Grantaire smiles indulgently at him. “Not as hard as you’d think.”

“Anything I can do to help?”

“Depends. Do you want to learn to be a little less hopeless in the kitchen?”

Enjolras shrugs. “I don’t know, I’m fine relying on you. Is that terrible?”

“Not at all. I was going to try and show you how to cook the rice, but you can make yourself useful and run to the corner store, get some things for a salad and dessert.”

“Okay,” Enjolras says. “Before I go—“

“Yeah?”

“It seemed like… at the meeting?”

“Yes?”

“Like you were a little- like there was a moment when—I mean, I think you noticed I was talking to you, there, at the end.”

“I did,” Grantaire agrees.

“I hope—it seemed like you were upset. I didn’t want to stop and embarrass you in front of the others, but—are you okay?”

Grantaire nods. “I’m fine now. I was… I was having a moment, yeah.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“No, don’t—you can’t freak out every time, I mean, recovering is going to be a really long process for me. I feel a lot better, and every day I’m with you is better than the last, but I’m still—it’s going to be a long time before I’m over what happened.”

“I know that,” Enjolras says. “And that’s okay.”

“When you worry, though… it makes it hard to talk about this stuff. Like, I never could have interrupted the meeting, and I’m hesitating to tell you that now, because I know it’ll make you feel bad, but I want to be honest with you.”

“Thank you. But—I can’t help worrying, Grantaire, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t tell me the truth. My worry is my problem—and the fact that Combeferre and Courfeyrac worry is theirs—and I can talk to my other friends about it and not you. Please tell me if I’m ever doing something wrong as I try and support you through this process. I just want to help you.”

Grantaire relaxes a little. “I’m sorry for asking so much.”

“Never apologize. Anything you tell me about how to help is a gift.”

“Thank you.”

Enjolras wraps an arm around Grantaire and kisses his temple. “I was guessing at the meeting—“

“You did perfectly, Enjolras. I just… sometimes I need to know that you—I worry about being forgotten. About not being good enough to be—to be taken into account. Si- Laurent spent a lot of time out of the house, left me alone a lot, wouldn’t let me talk to other people, and that—that’s what I worry about. Not so much the physical punishment as the- as being isolated.”

“I’d never do that to you.”

“I know, it just- it really helps to know that you’re thinking of me, that even when there’s others around, you still—“

“You are always on my mind,” Enjolras promises. “In the best of ways. You are always there, reminding me what I’m fighting for.”

“Right now I need you to fight your way down to the grocery store, on a valient quest for arugula, tomatoes, flour, and whipped cream. Oh, and parmesan. Can you remember that?”

“I can try,” Enjolras says, kissing him quickly on the lips before he heads out.

Grantaire focuses on the cooking, but he’s smiling the whole time. He can feel the warmth of Enjolras’ lips and can’t shake the wonderful feeling that spreads through his whole body.

It’s love. He’s in love with Enjolras, and he knows it. He’s known it from the beginning. The speech today has only solidified this knowledge.

Strangely, Grantaire isn’t bothered. If anything, he feels secure in the knowledge. Loving Enjolras is good, is safe. It’s so much better than being in love with Laurent. Enjolras might not love him, exactly, but he cares so much. He’s so wonderful and kind and patient and so, so beautiful, and he’s chosen Grantaire, even though Grantaire is ugly and damaged and stubborn and cynical.

And Grantaire loves him so much for it.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It has been a shamefully long time since I updated this and I really do apologize to everyone.

He’s going to tell Enjolras, he decides over dinner.

Enjolras is in the middle of rambling about something or other, and his whole face is bright with passion, shining even, a bite of risotto half-frozen on its way to his mouth, and Grantaire is so in love with him that he almost blurts the words out right then and there.

Instead he says, “Eat your dinner. I worked hard on it, you know.”

Enjolras blushes a little. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. Just eat. You’ll need your strength to singlehandedly fix all the evils of the world.”

“Right.”

Not yet, though. He’ll tell Enjolras he loves him soon, but not so soon.

He needs a little longer. He’s got a bit of money saved up, but he wants to get some more underway. He wants to meet some other people, maybe start having some friendships, or at least some connections, with Enjolras’ friends. He wants to be free, or at least freer, of his past, before he makes this plunge. 

With Laurent, it wasn’t about love. It was about sex, and Grantaire’s shitty self-esteem, his need to be wanted because he thought that’s the closest he’d ever be to doing some good in the world.

Enjolras doesn’t think that.

Enjolras wants him, yes, but Enjolras also wants him to be happy. Wants him to pursue his art. Is worried he’s spending too much time cooking dinner and not enough being independent. Introduces him to his friends. Believes in him, maybe as much as Grantaire believes in Enjolras. 

And Grantaire is happy. 

Enjolras insists on washing the dishes while Grantaire putters around the kitchen, not sure exactly what to do with himself.

When the dishes are clean, Enjolras puts on water for tea and sits down on the couch.

“Do you want to negotiate tonight?” Enjolras asks. “We haven’t had a chance to talk as much about that as I’d hoped, before our first scene, and I really want to do right by you. I want to know what you like, what you don’t.”

“Okay,” Grantaire agrees.

“You’re all right to do this now? It can wait.” Enjolras reaches over and squeezes his hand, and Grantaire smiles. His heart is so full, looking at this wonderful man, so gentle and careful and passionate.

“I’m all right.”

“Tell me if you want to stop talking about this,” he says again, his voice soft. “At any point, okay?”

“I will. Jesus, Enjolras, it’s just talking.”

“I just want you to be comfortable with me,” Enjolras says, frowning a little, and Grantaire has to lean in and kiss his frown away.

“I am. I really, really am.” He smiles. “Let’s talk about sex.”

“Okay. So, safeword. Did using ‘red’ work for you? Should we stick with that?”

“Yeah. But, um, if I say no or something… I do want you to at least pause and make sure I don’t really mean it. Does that make sense?”

“Perfect sense. What if you can’t talk for some reason? Can you think of a non-verbal-“

Grantaire loudly hums the first five notes of La Marseillese and grins. 

Enjolras laughs a little. “Good. Okay. You’re still okay with calling me ‘Master’? You don’t have to, but, um, I really liked it.”

“Yes, I am.”

“And- what do you like to be called? What’s off-limits, what’s not-“

“I really like the, uh, the praise. That’s…” Grantaire trails off. “Being yours, or your boy—I want that. A lot. Pet is good too. I don’t mind some humiliation-type stuff in scenes, slut or fucktoy or something, but, um, nothing more than that.”

“What do you mean ‘more’?” Enjolras asks.

“Stupid or useless or pathetic or—“

“Did he—“

“Yeah,” Grantaire admits. “During sex, sometimes, but other times too. Mostly when I was being punished.”

“I wouldn’t do that to you,” Enjolras assures him.

“And, um, ‘whore’ is probably… probably off-limits for a while. After-“

“Of course.” 

“Also, sorry, I don’t know if I can be tied down like that anytime soon, so I really can’t move. Or gagged with my mouth open. Other gags are fine but that—I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

“Grantaire,” Enjolras begins, his voice careful, “You know that’s all right, don’t you? You know you’re allowed to say no to anything? And you don’t have to feel guilty. You’re not obligated to do—anything. And I would never, ever want to do anything that would remind you of him, or of what he put you through.”

Grantaire feels a bit pathetic, how happy he is to have that reassurance. “Even if—“

“What?”

“If I never can? If I’m always scared a little, if you always have to-“

“I would much rather continue to go without sex than participate in the abuse you’ve been subjected to, yes.” Enjolras frowns. “Do you believe me? Because if you don’t, I’m not sure we can—I’m not sure we can have a sexual relationship right now. If you really think that I would-“

“I know you’re not him,” Grantaire assures him gently.

“And I don’t want to be like him. And you have to tell me if I start to, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Anything else? Any other triggers, any other limits?”

“Um.” Grantaire bites his lip and looks down. “If you’re mad at me. If you want to punish me. That’s okay. But I. Just- make it hitting me, or, or something, but don’t—withdraw. Don’t pull away from me, don’t call me names, don’t ignore me.”

“What if we just take punishment off the table?” Enjolras suggests.

“I don’t- I mean, I like having it there. I like knowing when I’m- when I haven’t done well, I like having a way to make it up to you.”

“But you prefer that it’s exclusively pain?”

“Yeah. I don’t mind that. I really- I actually like it. But afterwards—“

“Of course I’ll still take care of you, just like any other scene.” Enjolras smiles. “And on that note—aftercare? What do you like? It seemed like what we did last time worked…”

“Yeah. Um. Si- Laurent wasn’t big on that. As I’m sure you can imagine. So I don’t know. I know I liked what we did last time. I like being held. I like the praise. I might even need it.”

“Then I will make sure we do that after scenes.”

“You don’t mind?”

“I don’t mind.”

“I just—I know it’s a lot to ask…”

Enjolras gives him a look. “Grantaire. I’m asking you to trust me with your self and well-being. Nothing is too much for me to give you in return.”

“Another thing,” Grantaire says. “Nothing in public? No other people?”

“You don’t have to say it like it’s a question, ‘Aire. If you say no, it’s off the table. I promise.”

“I know. I do trust you. I just—you have to understand that I’m going to be a little tentative, probably for a while. It’s hard to stand up for myself after everything, after being so… for so long, being told that what I thought didn’t matter. So even though I know, and I do know, that you aren’t like that… I know but it hasn’t sunk in really. I’m still used to acting the way I had to act around Laurent, so he wouldn’t hurt me too badly. It’s instinct at this point. I’m not trying to act like I don’t trust you or anything.”

“Okay. I believe you. And you don’t have to act more fine than you are. It’s okay if you’re not fine for a while. You’ve been through a lot. And you made it.”

“Aren’t we supposed to be talking about sex?”

“Right. Back to that. Are those all the big limits?”

“Other than, I mean, all bathroom activities remain in the bathroom. Oh, and no knives or needles. Just out of sanitation concerns.”

Enjolras shudders. “No objection from me on either of those.”

“Also not super into puppyplay or ageplay.”

“Not on my list either. What about things you like?”

“I like being tied up, but I like being held down even more. Your body weight, on me—although I could probably take you in a fight, that’s not the point. The point is me feeling it, feeling you on top of me. Um. I really like being bitten. Or slapped, or spanked. I also like any kind of impact pain—crops, floggers, your belt, paddles. But your hand would be my favorite.”

Enjolras hums. “It seems like a lot of what you want from this is a feeling of connection. An intimacy. Would you say that’s true?”

Grantaire nods. “Yeah, definitely. I mean, it’s definitely a sexual thing, don’t get me wrong. Nothing turns me on as much as being thrown around, as that feeling of being put in place and used—used for your pleasure. But part of why I like that so much is it makes me feel really wanted. Really desired. I like that.”

Enjolras gently cups Grantaire’s chin, drawing his face up so he has to meet his eyes. “I really want you. You know that, right?”

“Yes. I do. And I like to feel it.”

“During sex, you prefer to bottom?”

“Yes. And I like giving oral more than receiving, which I know is unusual. I like being—not really forced, obviously, but having my hair pulled, my face slapped, you making me choke on it—“

“Fuck,” Enjolras whispers.

“So you, um, also are amenable to that?”

Enjolras laughs. “You could say that.”

“We could do that right now, you know.”

“We’re going to finish this conversation first,” Enjolras says firmly. 

Grantaire sighs. “Fine. Let’s get through this, I want to choke on your cock.”

“You can’t just say shit like that-“

Grantaire grins. “What, like that I want you to order me onto my knees where I belong? Or that I want you to tug my hair and hurt me to get me where you want me, to get me in my place? That you can fuck my mouth as hard as you want, as long as I get to taste your come when—“

“Grantaire,” Enjolras groans, his eyes going wide.

“Right. So, negotiating.”

“Tease.”

“That’s me.”

“Just wait, now you’ll have to get on your knees and beg me for it.”

Now it’s Grantaire’s turn to be hit with surprising arousal. 

“If that’s okay with you.”

“Yes. Very okay. I love begging. Actually, it’s pretty much inevatible. I can’t promise being, like, sexy and coherent or anything, but I will happily beg for you.”

“What about orgasm denial? Or delay?”

“I’m going to be pretty bad at it, I think? Like, I really like getting fucked, and I might come without permission, and then I might feel—“

“We can leave that one til later, then. Maybe one day, but it doesn’t have to be soon.”

“Thank you.”

“And I’m just assuming that you want the power exchance aspect to be limited to sex? Is that right, or—“

“Um. I’m okay with other kinds of service, as well? Actually, I kind of like—I like being told what to do. But I’m going to need some kind of specific—okay. Tell you what. If something is really an order—and you can give me an order anytime, as long as we’re alone here— we can have some kind of signal, and if I’m interpreting something as an order, I’ll call you Master. Okay?”

“What about a collar? Would that work as a signal?”

Grantaire swallows. “Would you—you would want to do that? To give me that?”

“Is it that big a deal?”

“Since I’ve spent the last six years trying to earn one from Laurent, kinda for me, yeah.”

“You don’t have to earn being mine, ‘Aire. You are if you want to be, and I’d be proud if you’d wear my collar.”

Grantaire doesn’t know what to say, so he just says, “Yeah.”

“How about this? If you want to do a scene, you can decide to put it on. If I want to, I’ll ask you to, and you can say no. If you take it off—and you can anytime, during sex or play or any other time—I’m assuming you don’t want to be ordered around.”

“That sounds like it will work.”

“We can go buy one soon, then. And anything else you want.”

“You,” Grantaire says, smiling. “Right now, all I want is you, Master.”

Enjolras growls, and then he’s suddenly on top of Grantaire, pinning his hands to the couch and kissing him, kissing him fiercely and possessively and Grantaire whimpers into his mouth.

“Can I?” he pleads. “Can I suck you off, Master, please—“

“Get on your fucking knees,” Enjolras orders, settling back down into place to palm himself obscenely through his jeans as Grantaire settles down between his legs. He undoes his own fly and then pulls Grantaire in, hands in his hair just as Grantaire had asked.

Grantaire’s mouth closes over him, a shock of incredible wet heat, and it’s not going to last very long at all, he knows that at once.

Still, he resolves to make it count, tugging Grantaire’s hair hard enough to bring tears to the other man’s eyes, thrusting a little bit forward.

Grantaire’s hands are hovering around Enjolras’ thighs, like he’s not sure what to do with them, so Enjolras orders, “Touch yourself. As slowly as you can.”

Grantaire hums his agreement and obeys, but doesn’t stop focusing on what he’s doing, on his mouth around Enjolras. He’s sucking hard and then flicking his tongue in all the right ways and then letting Enjolras give little thrusts into his mouth and it’s everything Enjolras thought he’d never be able to have in reality.

“I’m going to come,” Enjolras gasps. “I’m going to come in your mouth, and you’re going to swallow it for me, my good boy-“

Grantaire suddenly leans in, taking more of Enjolras into his mouth. He gags a little bit doesn’t stop, just holding his mouth there, and Enjolras gets the hint and bucks his hips a little more freely, giving in to that urge. He can’t last long, though, the pressure and pleasure of Grantaire’s mouth and the adoration in Grantaire’s watering brown eyes all too much, and then he’s coming.

When he’s finished, when he’s watched Grantaire swallow it all, he orders Grantaire up and into his lap and replaces Grantaire’s hand with his own. He leans in to suck a bruise into Grantaire’s neck as he starts to stroke, and then murmurs praise as he continues to slowly jerk Grantaire off.

“My good boy. That was so good. That was amazing. You have such a sweet mouth. You feel so perfect. You made me feel so wonderful. I can’t wait to do it again. I can’t wait to be able to enjoy that for longer, but you made me lose control so fast, that’s how incredible you are, my perfect boy-“

Grantaire whimpers and turns his head to the side, hiding his face in Enjolras’ chest as he comes all over Enjolras’ hand at the words of praise.

Luckily, there are tissues nearby, and it’s easy for Enjolras to clean off his hand and then tug Grantaire into his arms, kissing his forehead and cuddling him close. “How was that?”

“Good,” Grantaire says, his voice a little raspy. “I liked that, Master.”

“I’m glad. Shh. You just relax now, okay? I’ve got you.”

“I’m yours.”

“Yes,” Enjolras says. “You are.”


End file.
